


Art & Gasoline

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: - minimal, Angst, Better Living Industries, Blanket Permission, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, funpoison, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-08-20 08:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: The Kobra Kid is a killjoy, and more than that - he's Party Poison's little brother, and he's missing. He's missing, and Party doesn't know what to do. The only people who can help him have a price to their services, and, begrudgingly, Party pays it; anything for his brother. Anything…Party Poison is a Venom Brother, and more than that - he's Kobra Kid's older brother, and Kobra is terrified. In a starch white cell with a hopeless, nameless killjoy and no sign of rescue in sight, he doesn't know what to do. It's up to himself, now.If only escape and rescue was the end of their story, but it might just be the beginning of something so, so much more dangerous. Something that might just kill everyone involved.





	1. Brother, Protect Me Now

"Stop here for the night?"

Watching the outside surroundings with a colorful lighter in hand, Kobra Kid shrugged. "Good a place as any, I suppose."

There were sand dunes for miles in any direction, but driving off of the cracked pavement to higher elevation gave them a slight vantage point, at least.

"Difference is," Party Poison grinned, shifting the gear into park. Sand was Hell on the tires, but there was no use worrying about it now. "Some places are closer to somewhere."

Kobra made a show of rolling his eyes while he jumped out of the cramped seat, even going as far as tilting his sunglasses down so he could see it. It was obvious he didn't care where they were so long as it wasn't driving. "What ever do you mean? We're close to - get this - sand, sand, and more sand!"

"Don't forget the Trans Am!" laughed Party, shuffling through the contents of the console to find his own, unpainted and unpersonalized lighter.

Kobra made his way to the trunk, to get both his and Party's sleeping bags. They were almost out of gas, but the gas station a few miles up Route Guano only opened when the sun rose - it was best to stop now without tempting luck..

With a sigh, Kobra waited impatiently for Party to remember to pop the trunk. He was tired and quite honestly not in the mood for banter, considering he'd been stuffed into the Trans Am's passenger seat for six hours. His legs were too long for that, okay?

It was Party's turn to gather anything they needed for a fire while Kobra set-up. They worked in silence, both absorbed in their tasks, and Party purposely neglected to comment on Kobra putting their sleeping bags on the same side of the fire. Even if it wasn't the best for heat distribution, as if Kobra knew how that worked - he would never turn down the opportunity to ensure his brother would get a full night's rest.

Soon enough, flames licked the top of Party's hand as he set another small piece of food on the blazing fire, and Kobra sat with his knees to his chest feet away, watching the ashes float and burn away.

"You good over there, Kid?" Party asked, flicking Kobra's forehead with no ill-intent. 

Ill-intent or not, Kobra swatted his hand away with a light smile playing on his lips. "Just happy to be back on the sand. Got tired of listenin' to static a while ago."

"What, not a fan of listening to some odd voice's scream peaking through ear-splitting numbness every half-hour?" Party asked rhetorically. Ungracefully, he dropped down next to Kobra, his dirty firetruck red hair flying up and catching the fire's light.

"Not a fan of your singing," Kobra corrected easily, letting his head rest on his brother's shoulders. Blond hair fell into his face, but he didn't bother to push it away; Party did it for him, pushing the grimy strands behind Kobra's ear..

Party scoffed dramatically. "I am an amazing singer, I'll have you know!"

"It would hurt your ego if I told you the truth, so yeah, sure."

"You'll see," said Party in a haughty tone. Reaching into Kobra's pockets he found the lighter Kobra had been playing with, making a show of tossing it up and catching it. 

Kobra didn't answer, seemingly content to scrutinize Party's movements. Party took care to make sure he didn't jostle his little brother too much. 

Sleeping in the car was an impossibility for Kobra; too many late nights and early mornings for both of them were bound to make an appearance - Party could see the flickerings of exhaustion in the slouch of Kobra's shoulders, the bags under his eyes. Desert life did that, though, and despite those Kobra seemed more alive than ever.

Maybe it was the vibrant colors, or the vivid emotion in all things Zonerat, or maybe it was even the drag races down in Zone 6 Kobra oh-so loved, that made him light up like that.

With twinkling stars above him, in his gaze as the lighter was long forgotten somewhere in the sand, Party determined it was a mix of all three. They were better out in the Zones, even with the kicked-up sand and scorching sun.

Kobra was going to be alright - Party allowed himself the self-indulgent thought. From the even breathing and light snoring, Kobra had fallen asleep on his shoulder… There would be no more dead, emotionless eyes for Party to force eye contact with. No more secrets and hiding. Not here, not out in the Desert, not where they had already carved out a sort-of living already. 

Even if the drive out to Zone 6 and then back to Zone 3 took a lifetime and then some. They were on their way back to the little shack serving as their home from one of Kobra's races.

He won. As usual - but Party had begged him to stay with him in the boring drive, since Party had to make a near hour detour for gas and Kobra didn't. His bike was still in Zone 3- with, of course, Agent Cherri Cola, as Kobra would never leave his bike in unsafe hands. (Neither were willing to see if it would fit in the Trans Am).

Yeah, they were getting the hang of the Zones. Of being Party Poison and Kobra Kid, the Venom Brothers. What could go wrong?

\--

With a bubbling panic, Party slammed the door of the Trans Am, narrowly missing his own fingers. The motor was still hot, the engine on, but Party didn't care.

Staggering across the ground, sand seeping into his boots, sinking under his feet, Party's eyes widened as he confirmed his suspicions.

Half-hidden with wind-blown sand, was Kobra Kid's motorbike.

No...no, no, this wasn't right, no… Party's breathing quickened, the whole world narrowing to him and the bike. Him and Kobra's prized bike. The same, pristinely painted, tuned to perfection, motorbike that Kobra rarely let out of his sight.

The bike whose owner hadn't been seen in seven days and counting. 

Kobra would never let his bike lay, half-covered in sand, just off Dreams Boulevard.

Kobra would never leave Party for a week straight with no warning and without checking in. Never.

So...that meant...Party's lip quivered, harsh wind stinging against his face, drying the tears before they had a chance to escape. 

Kobra wasn't okay - oh, he wasn't, not if his bike lay abandoned like trash. Kobra wouldn't disappear without his bike, either, which left one option - 

One option, and Party's blood was already was already boiling, a searing intensity clawing its way through his throat. One option left. 

The Kobra Kid was missing.

Party Poison's little brother was missing.

No. Kobra couldn't be missing - Kobra was too smart, too cunning, and too strong to be taken, but he wouldn't take off without his bike and without Party. So that was the truth, then. 

And without Kobra, Party had no one to stop him from tearing the damn Desert apart. No, nothing - Kobra deserved that much. And if he hadn't come back from the supply run he'd said he'd ride seven days ago, Party had a week's worth of catching up to do.

Seven days Kobra was left alone Destroya knows where. That was long enough - too long. 

Gritting his teeth, Party stalked back to the Trans Am, engine still running. Good. He had places to be, and he didn't have the time to wait - there were six Zones needing to be searched and scoured.

Without the scathing wind that was blocked by having the windows rolled up, there was nothing to stop Party's tears, but he didn't bother wiping them away, not going top speed down sand-covered pavement. 

He knew, he knew he couldn't be everywhere in the Zones. But maybe he didn't have to - a DJ got around to every Zone without ever leaving their station. 

Never in his life had he been able to operate radio equipment, and if he ever tried there was no doubt in Party's mind that he would break it in three minutes at most. But his intent didn't involve him having to.

Dr. Death Defying was the Desert's most popular radio station. It had never gotten hacked by Better Living Industries, not even once. If you knew the right people, you knew the location; Party had known the right people for months now, and he was cashing in on that information.

-

Zone 2 was a far cry from Zone 3 - the latter filled with ruins and half-standing buildings, habitable but dangerous enough for caution to be advised, while the former stood stripped down to it's skeleton, a barren sand-scape ready to be rebuilt on old foundations.

Honestly? Party didn't care. Barreling down Route Guano with a nearly empty tank of gas and a lack of self-restraint made the passing views blurry, not even the road in focus. 

Nothing was going to be in focus in Party's mind's eye until Kobra was safe and sound in the Trans Am's passenger seat. Who cared?

The answer was no one - no one was around to care until he reached Dr. Death Defying's station, swerving violently in lieu of slowing down, splaying sand in every direction. 

The Station was mostly hidden in sand. Whatever building had stood before was brought down to its foundations, and those were filled in, but it had a basement; once the stairwell had been shoveled out, it was discovered the basement had survived, and was, in fact, an old recording studio.

At least, that was what Show Pony had told him. 

Party, to his credit, managed to take the keys out with shaking hands. Rage or fear, he didn't know, assumingly a mixture of both. He could see the stairwell, wasting no time, keys clutched between his fists and leaving indentations. He hastily crammed them into his pocket.

He didn't know what he was feeling. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. There was simply...a blank slate where Kobra would be. Rageful, or mournful? Determined or terrified? Desolate, or worried?

Was all of the above an answer?

There were so many conflicting feelings in his head he wanted to scream. He wanted a firefight. More accurately, he wanted his brother back.

Pushing the thoughts out of his head, Party clamped his jaw, repressing the screaming, and slammed his fists against the metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. It was obviously not meant for it's frame, though it clearly did it's job if it was still standing.

In all their flamboyant, neon glory, Show Pony opened the door - the harsh grating of metal against concrete making Party shudder.

Before Pony even got a word out, Party was already advancing, steel gaze cutting past records, CDs, and cassettes, searching for one target - 

And one target he found. An older man, sitting in a wheelchair, long black hair, short beard and mustache, surrounded almost in a cubicle my radio equipment. Dr. Death Defying. 

"You," Party grit out, not bothering to keep his emotions in check. His voice was shaky, oozing the certain venomous intent that gave him and his brother their namesake. "You do the Traffic, right?"

He didn't mean to be so abrasive, but Party wasn't feeling self-conscious or regretful in the slightest as the Doc gave him a once over, from his greasy red hair, to his still-white knuckles, to his worn boots. He raised a brow. "I take it you're the kid who's been kickin' up blood out there? Party Poison?"

"Yeah, now answer my damn question," Party spat. If Kobra was on...No, no, Kobra wouldn't. Kobra was too smart.

Dr. D nodded, fiddling with a dial in his set-up. "'Pends on who you ask and why. Why you need to know, kid?"

"My - " Party almost said 'my little brother'. Little brother. Who was probably smarter than Party (definitely smarter), but his little brother nonetheless. "The Kobra Kid. Is he on the Traffic?"

Hesitating, Dr. D almost answered. Instead, he shuffled ratty, stained pavers around his desk, before finally giving a low hum as he held up a significantly more clean paper, low quality blue ink bleeding to the side Party could see. "No...No Kobra Kid. What's up with the Kid?"

"Yeah!" Show Pony interrupted before Party had a chance to register the words flowing through his head. "What's up with your attitude AND why are ya askin' if Kobes is on the Traffic?"

"Haven't seen 'im in a week. Found his bike in the sand." It was all Party had to say, and he knew it. 

The way Pony's eyes widened and the gasp they let out confirmed it - everyone knew Kobra would never abandon his bike. Or his brother. "And you thought -"

"What else should I think?" Party cut them off, an air of restlessness surrounding him. This was taking too much time. "That he ran off? No. And if he isn't on the Traffic, something happened to him. I want to find him."

Neither of the two other 'joys stated any of the what-ifs Party could see swirling in their eyes. Good. He didn't need what-ifs, he needed help. With the storms in his eyes he was almost daring them to tell him it was useless.

Dr. D nodded slowly, never looking away from Party. He was determined, and Party made damn sure they both could see it. "Alright, kid...You want help? Lookin' for 'im?"

"Well I didn't come here expecting my brother was dead," Party seethed. Asking for the Traffic had been to calm the panic crushing his heart. Knowing Kobra wasn't on that list only loosened the noose, not removed it. "Of fucking course!"

"I don't think we can -" Pony started with a nervous glance to Dr. D, before sighing and rephrasing. "We don't have enough Zonerunners in…"

"We might be able to spare one or two," Dr. D hummed. He kept switching dials on his desk (or radio equipment, Party didn't see the differentiation in the lighting) on-and-off.

"We really can't, you know we need to lay low!" Pony protested, side-eying Party. It wasn't out of malice, it was sympathy, and really, Party did understand. The Dracs in this area had increased and Party's careless excursion out here wasn't a good idea. But Party didn't care.

"And he really needs his brother." Dr. D wasn't looking at Pony while he spoke - he was looking straight at Party, at his tensed shoulders, his determined gaze. "We have anyone near here?"

Pony had to think a little. The silence only fueled Party's temper. "...Most everyone red-lined. But I know Fun Ghoul is over by Bayside."

"Bayside?" Party asked. Before anyone else got a chance to add anything or speak. "Fun Ghoul?"

"The old pool out a few miles that-a-way." Pony pointed to the door with his thumb, like anyone had any sense of direction in a cluttered basement with sand in the window wells. "Ghoulie is a bomb-maker. He's not quite a Zonerunner, D."

Dr. D shrugged. "He's what we've got, an' I got an inkling Party ain't leaving 'til he gets what he wants. On one condition."

"Damn right I'm not!" Party agreed - then the last sentence registered. "Wait - why the fuck does there need to be a condition for your help? Is my brother's disappearance not a good enough fuckin' reason?!"

"You're not the only one who's come in over a missing friend," Pony said quietly, sadly, standing next to Party but too hesitant to put their hand on his shoulder.

Party grit his teeth, forcing down a new wave of nausea and dread, instead focusing on the fading red CD case haphazardly thrown on the floor. "No. You can't help everyone but you can help me. Help me and help Kobra."

"You got carbons on you?" It was an out-of-place question. It had no place in a conversation about how Party was going to get his damn brother back. 

Party scowled at Dr. D, through dim lighting, but answered nonetheless. "I might. What's it to you?"

"Neutral market out in Zone 4. Pony an' I need some supplies," Dr. D said, leaning back in his chair. "Won't cost too much. Twenty, twenty-five carbons."

Party balked. "I'm not going to some fucking market when my brother is missing!"

"You will," Dr. D said, a melancholy to his voice. Why, Party didn't know, but Pony seemed to. "If you want our help. We can help with gas. Take Ghoul, pay, come back, you have our help."

"Say I agree." It took all of Party's self-restraint not to bludgeon someone right then and there. He didn't have time for this - it showed in his clamped fists, blood droplets starting to pool in the space between nail and finger from pressure. "Say I agree, why the Hell would I need to take your Zonerunner with me?"

"Make sure you don't steal."

"Do I look like a thief to you?" Party's voice had a low lilt to it, his anger turning halcyon. At least, so it physically appeared. But his irascibility wasn't gone - wouldn't be gone - until he got what he wanted. It was a dangerous combination, and while Party didn't realize it yet, the two killjoys in the room with him did. "I don't have the time to go to a market and drag a Runner with me. Kobra is missing."

Pony was backing up, leisurely, standing next to Dr. D, tossing up a CD. "Look, I can't - I can't change that, Party, but you need to realize our help isn't free. Please. We want to help."

"Then help me. Skip the bullshit. I just want to find my brother." He wasn't begging, he wasn't pleading, he wasn't yelling. He was asking. And there was one, one right answer. 

Pony sighed, rubbing their forehead. "Look. I wish it worked that way. You aren't the only 'joy with a missin' person. We need to lay low. Please, Party. Accept the offer."

"And if I accept," Party started, shoving his fist into his jacket pocket, finding and holding tight to his keys, to keep himself collected. "I grt your help in finding Kobra? Everything you've got?"

With a nod, Dr. D and Pony looked to each other and seemed to have a silent conversation. When they reached an agreement, Pony turned back to Party, now half-sitting on a table. "Yeah. Whatever you want. D'll scribble ya down a list of what we need, go down to Bayside 'n give Ghoulie the list. He'll take ya."

Party managed to keep his mouth shut while Dr. D, as told, scribbled down his list on some small piece of cardboard laying around.

There were no farewells on his way out, only a flance of cherry red hair flying through the air before he was gone.

-

The Bayside was, as promised, just west a few miles up, but Party only realized that because of the scrawled directions. 

Glass windows in the front room that was visible to Party were all shattered, missing, but that was to be expected. Graffiti also covered all of the bad wallpaper, but Party didn't focus on reading any of it.

The doorway leading to an empty, graffitied pool lacked an actual door, and the frame was rotting and half-collapsed, but Party ducked under the beams - he's never been to Bayside before, but he'd never been.

There was only one 'joy, sitting cross-legged in the dirty deep-end, wires and parts and scrap metal sitting aimlessly in a semi-circle around him. 

"You're Fun Ghoul?" Party asked snobbishly, voice echoing off the walls. This was the only way he could get Dr. D and Show Pony's help - it didn't mean he had to act like he wanted to be doing this. The preference would be scouring through the Zones, half-wading in sand with the sun searing his shoulders. But that would never work.

The 'joy looked up, shoulder-length black hair falling over their face. Dr. D had black hair, sure, but he was older, a feat not achieved by most...Party didn't like thus 'joy already. No one who wasn't Dr. D-age shouldn't have black hair. "'Pends on why you're askin', cherry."

"We're going on a Run." It was blunt, it left no room for argument. 

So of course, Fun Ghoul argued. "I don't know you. I'm not Running with you. Why are you here?"

Party sighed dramatically, jumping down into the pool nimbly, having decided he didn't want to take the stairs. "Party Poison. Sent by Dr. D. And I don't have time to waste listening to you, so let's get a move on."

"Knock the attitude. Then we'll talk," Ghoul near-growled, watching Party's feet as he carelessly stepped over, over and around Ghoul's scrap metal.

Party took the crumpled note out of his back pocket, taking care to crush it a bit more before throwing it in Ghoul's face. "We'll talk now. Let's go, Fun Ghoul."

"I'm doing something. Clearly," Ghoul deadpanned, taking Party's hand and putting the note back. 

Kicking some little metal contraption, Party was grateful for steel-toed boots. "Does it look like I care? Get up. We have a Run and the sooner we get back the sooner I get to start looking for my brother, crash queen."

"You're the crash queen here, cherry bomb," Ghoul grit out, jumping up to be eye level with Party...well, he went up to Party's eyes. "But you look like a real trouble-magnet, and I don't wanna be 'round you too long. Fine."

"My car." Party said blankly. He didn't have time to argue, he needed to get this over with.

Ghoul didn't answer; he also didn't pick up any of the scraps and trinkets he'd been messing with, electing to follow Party instead. 

The silence was a welcome change for Party.

\---

"Get your filthy hands off me!" 

Kobra threw a wild swing to whoever was next to him, unable to reach the Drac behind him - his fist hit concrete, blood from his knuckles smattering across it.

Before he could blink, what had previously been three Dracs as an escort became a bustling hallway full of them coming in on either side of him, pinning his arms, holding his head in place, forcing his mouth shut.

He couldn't even thrash around there were so many surrounding him, white, white, pure white aside from the Drac masks, oh Destroya the masks, the masks - 

Kobra's breathing was too erratic, the sterile smell of chemicals stinging in his nostrils and barely covering the smell of blood, the plastic of a glove over his mouth barely allowing him to breathe, he shut his eyes, he didn't have his gun, why were they moving him? What did he do? What were they doing?

Dracs didn't care if they jostled him or not, hitting his shoulder as they marched him. They'd already knocked him out for the journey here, where could they be taking him?

Kobra lost track of time. Tick, tock, tock, tock. In his jumbled thoughts he couldn't make out the difference, he should be watching where they were taking him, he should be counting the turns, he should be planning -

A rough hand shoved Kobra's back, making him stumble forward, crashing his bad left shoulder into a wall. Pain flared through him body, making him gasp, collapse, eyes flying open only to see static until the pain started to subside.

There were no more hands on him. No one was jostling his shoulder. Kobra had to force himself to sit up, arm braced against the wall for support. Concrete, again. Probably white, but there was dingy yellow lighting.

And on the edges of his vision, a door. A glass door, but Kobra didn't bother looking over or entertaining any thoughts of breaking it. He already knew how impossible that was. 

He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted his brother. He wanted to wake up and pretend this was all a dream. But if it was a dream he would've woken up by now.

"Need help with that?"

Kobra nearly jumped, wildly looking for the source of the voice and finding it was behind him - he was still adjusting to the light, but he could see the outline of another person, in the farthest corner, ten feet orso away. They had an impressive 'fro, but the white scrubs - the same ones Kobra was in - made Kobra wary. He shouldn't be, really, but what-if this was another trick? "Who are you?"

The stranger shook their head. "No names. Your shoulder. It's hurt. Do you need help?"

Kobra could understand no names. Last time he was caught talking to himself he got his shoulder injury - just his brother's name, over and over, Party Poison, Party Poison, Party Poison.

"..." Kobra was silent for a minute. They were in the same damn prison uniform with hair that wasn't up to standard. Couldn't be too bad, right? "I...Yeah. Yeah, please. What - what can I call, then?"

"J works," the stranger - J - said, crawling over to where Kobra was sitting. Up close, he looked much more beat up then Kobra - darker-skinned, but Kobra could see he was probably deprived of sunlight and the lighting was too dim to really tell, a black eye, split lip...bloodied scrubs. Worse than Kobra, but he stopped trying to inventory J's wounds. 

Instead, he let J tear off one of Kobra's sleeves at the elbow, tearing that into strips. He was quiet until J motioned for him to take his shirt off to wrap around the burn on his shoulder. "You can call me K, I guess. Or Kid."

"You look like a kid," J smiled lightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. He was gentle, taking care not to agitate the wound, but he was also frowning soon after. "This is gonna get infected."

"Can't really help that," Kobra mumbled, voice a scarce whisper. He hadn't talked all week, ever since he got caught, and part of him was terrified to talk again. But J had been here longer and he didn't seem terrified. 

J sighed. "I know, Kid."

"...Where are we?" Kobra asked hesitantly, curiously after a beat of silence. 

J shrugged, putting Kobra's shirt back over his head, wincing with him when he had to put his arm through the sleeve. "Holding 'cility. Dunno where…"

"How long you been here?"

"Long enough to feel bad for you," J said simply, leaning back against the wall and sitting with Kobra, knees pulled to his chest. "You look like you're waitin' for rescue or escape."

"Of course I am," Kobra nearly scoffed. Of course, of course Party would come get him. Party always saved him, right? 

J gave a sad smile. "I hope that hope sticks with you, Kid. For now...Welcome to captivity, I suppose."


	2. But That's Just Who I Am [Right Now]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison meets....an unpleasant killjoy, who may be crucial to finding his brother. 
> 
> And Kobra - well, J might've seen his fate before.

The drive out to Zone 5 was silent, windows up. Party Poison wasn't in the mood for idle chatter - especially not with a raven-haired killjoy. It was ridiculous this was even happening; sure, Party knew help wasn't free, but finding Kobra seemed incomprehensibly more pressing than grocery shopping at the Market. 

Maybe he could ask around a little, but he doubted it. He'd already been to the Crack Track and Roulette Races,the two racing venues around, before he'd had solid proof of Kobra's missing status. Plus, Party paid extra care to go back to everywhere Kobra might think to go back to, all the places they've camped out or hidden in before. If Kobra wasn't any of those places, and no one had any clue? It was like catching a ghost.

Useless.

Party heaved a sigh, wind-shaken tents coming into his view over the sand dunes. Thaos of mixing neon colors clashing horrendously with soft pastels and the gray of Neutrals, the noise of deals and thievery, it all made up the business of the Market. Hosted by a Neutral settlement, the Market always moved around. Too bad it couldn't be any closer the one time Party actually needed to go, but of course, he seemingly couldn't waste any more time id he tried, 

No effort, nor care, was put into parking, or keeping the passenger from receiving whiplash (Party almost wished he did). Maybe if Ghoul accidentally died, Party wouldn't be blamed? He knew wishful thinking when he thought it, his feet hitting burning sand through worn leather boots, driver door slamming shut behind him. 

Faking a posh smile, directed at his unwilling companion, Party quickly turned on his heel; to the Market, in full-swing. There was no trying to read Dr. D's handwriting - it was Fun Ghoul's job, anyway -, but Party had a vague notion of where they needed to be. 

Party wished he wouldn't have to deal with socializing more than he had to. This wasn't a voluntary trip, after all, make no mistake, and the more time he spent here, the more time he could've spent looking for Kobra.. Of course, the Phoenix Witch was laughing down on him, taking care his wish wasn't granted.

"Where you going?" Ghoul asked nicely, walking behind Party by a few paces. Ghoul made the mistake of touching Party's shoulder before Party could answer - without thinking, Party threw it out of Ghoul's grasp. 

Rule 1, don't touch Party. Ever. It may have been stupid, but he kept to the rule closely. The only exception was Kobra, and Kobra wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person.

"Don't know," Party mumbled honestly in response to Ghoul's question. Traces of his irritation at the contact must've been in his eyes with the way Ghoul backed away slightly when Party looked back to make eye contact. 

Good. Party wanted this entire ordeal over already, quick as possible, to get searching for Kobra, and he made sure it he spared no rude body language or comments. 

Making a huff of frustration, Ghoul shook his head. He needed a haircut, in Party's opinion, with the raven hair always in the eyes. And hair dye. "Food section. Over on the West Side, s'where we're going."

The Market could've passed as a city on it's own. Difficult to navigate, and nearly impossible to see the same face twice, paired with the Monkey Suit-type vendors, it had all the ins-and-outs of a city.

Nevertheless, Party managed to shove past enough if the foot traffic to arrive at the food section. The comparative size sas pitiful, compared to the rest of the Market; it was difficult to grow sellable food in a Desert, though. Still walking around aimlessly, despite no ides where he was supposed to be going, Party waited for his babysitter to direct him. Or catch up. He'd lost Ghoul sometime in the last four minutes, but Ghoul was bound to show back up.

As if reading Party's thoughts (which grated on Party"s nerves, more so than remembering Ghoul existed, spectacularly) , Ghoul appeared at Party's side once again, saying they were looking for three cans of Power Pup, six Capri Suns and one bit of...parsley, even though neither of the pair knew what that was or why it was needed.

"I'm looking, not you," Party corrected autocratically, temper barely rising because of his own disinterest in the conversation and situation at hand. Only reason Party had to waste more tine picking Ghoul up on the way was because Dr. D didn't trust jim nig yo resort to thievery. "You'll stay out of my way, best you can."

Party could almost sense Ghoul roll his eyes. It seemed Ghoul yook his attitude personally. "I'll deck you before I EVER start listening to that snotty voice of yours, cherry bomb."

Too many jumbled thoughts of 'where are they, I want to leave,' were rushing through Party's head for Party to bother answering. Though, he didn't want to anyway, they didn't have time to bicker. Hastily made signs and painted tents were all eye-catching enough for Party to have difficulty looking around and past the colors to see what was being sold, aggravating Party further.

The out-of-place, black-and-white cans of Power Pup were spotted relatively easily while Party and Ghoul kept West; Party waded through the crowd without so much as a word (He didn't care much if his babysitter followed him or not). 

The killjoy - a killjoy, no doubt, based on the clothes and the hair - running the tent was bleach blond, with bright orange streaks fading to pink tips by their shoulders. The jacket was denim, with a few extra messily stitched patches and stains that Party could admire. Their name card read Patron Ghost. Namely, they looked fresh-faced, not used to the market, not used to different types of customers yet. An easy sell for Party.

Taking a deep breath, Party prepared to shove down his melting mask attitude for the three minutes it'd take to negotiate into a deal. Time to be the infamous Party Poison, Zone flirt, even if the idea of flirting while his brother could potentially be dying made him nauseous and sick to his stomach.

"How much you sellin' for?" Party nodded leisurely toward the rows upon rows of Power Pup lining the open y3nt, leaning on the cheap fold-up table, inches away from a jar of carbons. They were definitely new to this if they kept their carbons out in the open like that. Shame there would be no stealing for the day.

Patron Ghost startled at Party's sudden appearance, having been looking in the other direction, following his line of sight before remembering they were a vendor. "Oh, uh, nine carbons a can."

"Nine carbons, huh?" Party mused - the urge to blanch then and there was hard to resist. He would not pay nine carbons each for cans of puppy good. "I need about four cans of Power Pup, but thirty-six carbons seems like a little much, no? It's sort-of an emergency for me."

Hesitation flashed across Ghost's face; Party took the opportunity to plaster his most charming smile on. He was,Party Poison, flirting was in his nature, according to the masses, he just couldn't help it, right? Even with the appeal of cutting the unnecessary banter and leaving. "What are you offering, then?"

"'Joy over there was sellin' some for three-'n-a-half carbons," Party vaguely gestured to an imaginary vendor. "But he wasn't nearly as pretty as you, so I couldn't resist coming over here. I know you need to make some carbons 'n all...but maybe four carbons each?"

Ghost self-consciously laughed; with the heat and Ghost's dark brown skin, Party couldn't tell if they were blushing or not, but he was nearly certain he'd accomplished that much. "You're not - you're not too bad either, y'know? Well, I mean, I'm sure you already know that, but - er. Anyway. Four-and-a-half carbons and you have a deal."

"How dumb would I need to be to not take a deal from a pretty killjoy?" Party laughrf, keeping the charming smile up, brushing his not-too-clean red hair out of his face. He counted out the carbons from his pocket, eighteen in total. Eighteen carbons wasn't too bad, but it was still more than he would've preferred to pay, but one of those cans was for him. It wasn't too bad a deal.

Swiping the carbons off the table, Ghost dropped them into their glass jar, turning their back to Party.

Old habits die hard, Party remembered with almost an idle halcyon. He meticulously kept his gaze on Ghost, not on the jar. They would soon learn, the inner workings of the Market, but Party wasn't going to be the thief forcing their hand. And not just because of his babysitter.

Ghost turned to face Party once again, Power Pup in arms, gracelessly throwing them into a small brown sack, an awkward smile at Party.

"Thanks, it means a lot," said Party, his words not ringing true, though he returned the smile, his own more confident since he realized theirs wasn't. He took care in making sure their hands didn't touch when he grabbed the sack. His thoughts dully took him to when he and Kobra were talking about rumors, and one of them had been the Market supplying new customers with a near potato sack. 

Then again, any trains of thought seemed to lead to his brother, however dull. 

Party's smile vanished, as though it had never existed in the first place, the moment he left the table to return back to the crowd. The blistering sun wasn't nearly overhead yet, but sharply reminded him of the time. Too much time was already wasted. Every could be Kobra's last. And where the Hell had his babysitter slunk off too?

"'M right next to you." Ghoul was deadpanning, a few steps ahead of Party now...whenever he appeared. The confusion must've appeared on Party's face, or something. "Haven't disappeared yet. Capri Suns and parsley left. Why does anyone need parsley?"

"Could you drop it with the parsley?" Party huffed, though it wasn't a request. Maybe the heat, or maybe the ever-moving people were tricking his brain, making him feel time moving too quickly all around him, he wanted to leave, please, leave to find Kobra, go back to the Station. Or it could've been the increasing paranoia and anxiety of every scenario flashing through his head of his brother's whereabouts when he was reminded of time, each worse than the last, and all gruesome.

"If you drop the haughty attitude," Ghoul crossed his arms. At least Ghoul didn't comment on hiw they still had no idea where they were going, ir where the Capri Suns were, which was also starting to annoy Party the more he thought about it. He hated wandering like this.

And, for the record, his attitude wasn't 'haughty'. It was frustrated and ready to snap if they wasted any more time on menial tasks he shouldn't have to be doing, if anything. "Keep talkin' about the parsley, then. Look for the juice first why don't'cha?"

This time 'round, it was Ghoul who didn't reply. Probably for the best, seeing as it left Party to survey all the tents without a voice in his ear. 

He caught the eye of a killjoy in the crowd. It disconcerted jim more than it should've, them so far away, though he still couldn't place quite why. He lost their eye as quickly as he caught it, a shock of neon green hair appearing in his vision before it, and the killjoy, were gone. Shaking it off, he kept looking. Losing time.

Ghoul found the tent they were searching for, motioning Party over. It was closer to the edge of the Market; that was why it was so difficult to find. Already it was getting on his nerves.

Party didn't even lie to himself - he didn't have the patience to flirt again. He'd take whatever offer he was given and he would leave.

Instead of lying, he stalked up to the table, keeping his expression carefully neutral , shoving his hands in his pockets. "Capri Suns. Six. How much?"

Behind the table, the killjoy gave Party a fast one over, taking a small step back. "Two carbons each, please."

Without commenting on the hitch in the killjoy's voice, Party pulled the twelve carbons from his pocket without a word, patience run thin. He took the Capri Suns and narrowed his eyes at the killjoy's small, inept smile. 

"The story is we weren't able to find the parsley," Party said bluntly, no room for the argument Ghoul would surely have as he traipsed across the Desert sand, trusting everyone to get out of his way. 

Ghoul stayed silent, keeping those fated arguments to himself oddly enough. He walked next to Party, not behind or in front of while they began the trek back to the Trans Am, Ghoul holding the bag Party had handed over at some point. 

With the shopping escapade over, Party was more than anxious to start search inquiring about his brother all over the Desert. 

So, true to his luck, a 'joy walked in front if Party before he could leave the crowd behind. They were mostly away from the heavy foot traffic, the walk space wider; Party couldn't understand why he was the one being dumped into, he had places to be.

Party tried to move. The killjoy stopped him before he could; Party was certain they knew each other, the green hair was familiar and the lip ring, too. 

"Going somewhere?"

The voice clicked in Party's head - Fallacy Fame. Fallacy was also the one he'd made eye contact with earlier, the disconcerting feeling. The neon green hair should've given it away, half matted from sweat to Fallacy's forehead. 

Party frustratedly crossed his arms, nearly rolling his eyes but managing to refrain. "What do you want, Fallacy? I have to go."

Fallacy laughed, pushing strands of his green hair out of his eyes.. It was high-pitched and preening, but Fallacy was a bit young, after all. Tall, but fifteen, two years younger than Kobra and four younger than Party. "I'm quite certain you do. Y'know, I have to say I'm surprised to see you here - and with a new lap dog? Where's your old one? Does this one lick up your scraps like your brother did?"

Party clenched his fists tightly, letting his arms fall to his sides, shifting his weight evenly like he was debating on getting into a fight. Gritting his teeth, to show he wasn't perturbed by Fallacy's questions, he returned his casual smile. "It's really none of your business, kid. And especially my brother's whereabouts."

"Maybe you just can't find him?" Fallacy suggested, tilting his head. It felt mocking, to Party at least, who was already line dancing with his emotions. The sun highlighted Fallacy's freckles, giving a childish innocence to him. 

Party froze. He didn't mean to, but his hands fell slack at his sides, his expression went blank, while his mind started to race, to process, to question. This was too much in one day. Too much. But how could Fallacy know? Party had only told Dr. D, Show Pony, and Ghoul hadn't pieced it together yet, Party was sure. Kobra didn't keep around any close friends who'd notice, except maybe Cherri. And Fallacy Fame was certainly not on that list.

Fallacy and Party only knew each other because of roller derby. Maybe they were sort-of friends, but not now, not now.

"What do you know about that?" Party snarled, snapping back go his reality, coming back from his shocked state with startling quickness. The scabs on his palms, barely formed after he broke the skin hours prior, reopened from the pressure. 

There was something dangerous lurking in his eyes, but Party could only feel an icy flame flooding through his body, his veins, his mind, all with one thought. Fallacy knew something, something he wasn't telling Party. 

Fallacy had the audacity to laugh, looking Party dead in the eyes, knowing he was treading on cracking ice. It was almost impossible not to grab him by the jacket collar and demand Fallacy tell him the truth. "Kid must be so scared...Waiting for his big brother to come save him, no doubt."

"What do you know?" Party repeated, jaw clamped painfully tight. Forcing his voice to stay even, a trickling of venom still seeped through. The same venom misguidedly directed at Dr. D last, the same venom directed full-force toward Fallacy Fame. 

Fallacy shrugged, a sing-song lilt to his voice to join his dastardly smile. "Me? I know nothing. Could only assume~"

Party was going to knock each of his teeth out, one-by-one if he had to, he swore on the dye in his hair. He was too infuriated to answer without red splattering across his vision - and Ghoul too confused, he imagined, but Party nearly forgot Ghoul was there, beside him.

"Have a good day, Poison." Fallacy gave a small wave of his fingers, seeing neither Ghoul nor Party had anything to say, or could articulate it. 

As abruptly as he appeared, Fallacy was gone, another flash of neon green hair. A ghost in the bustling chaos of the Market. A ghost who knew something. A ghost as easy to track down as Kobra, Party was sure.

Party stood motionless for longer than he'd admit, long after Fallacy was gone, a sense of paralyzation. The cold fire ignited in him before was becoming veins of lead, keeping him grounded in the stifling way he couldn't stand, stopping him from running into that crowd, finding the shock of green hair, out for blood.

A tap on his shoulder stunned him back out of his head, back to where his veins held blood and nothing more, his helplessness only in his head. Within a split second Party spin around, shoving Ghoul away from him. "Don't touch me!" he hissed.

"Calm down, cherry bomb…" Ghoul didn't sound irritated, more concerned. Even as he stood, wiping sand off his clothing, still clutching the bag, he didn't appear angry. Party hadn't meant to push him to the ground - he just wanted Ghoul to back off. 

Ghoul shouldn't be concerned, for him. Ghoul didn't know what was going on, why Party felt so feral - simultaneously exhausted and angry. Party couldn't manage to work up enough anger or resentment to cause a scene, to scoff or shout. All of his anger was directed at Fallacy.

"I won't touch you, but we need to get back to the car," Ghoul coaxed quietly, after a few beats of silence. True to his word, , Ghoul kept his hands far away from Party when he motioned back to the path leading them out of the Witchforsaken Market.

Sighing, Party corrected him, "The Trans Am, not the car," he said, and began walling, following Ghoul, sand crunching under his worn boots, the only sound Party allowed himself to hear.

Neither said a word. Almost sensing Party's mood, the remaining crowd stayed out of Party's way, up until there was no crowd to part. 

Then, once in the Trans Am, engine on but gear in park, Vhoul finally asked the question on the tip of his tongue - "What's going on?"

"None of your business, either," Party muttered, lip upturned in what could be a sneer if he wasn't so tired. He shifted both the gear and onto the cracked pavement road. He could...drive. Nothing else, focus on the road without thinking about other issues. Maybe that was why there was no bite to his words.

Ghoul stared at him.

It didn't take much for Party to cave. He wanted to tell something, who wasn't already involved or going to shake their head at him with pity and say it was hopeless. "My...my brother - Kobra Kid - he's missing. And - the only people I told are you, Dr. D, and Pony."

"That's why you were upset with that killjoy ...Who was that, anyway?" Ghoul asked tacitly. Testing his new boundaries, seeing what Party would tell him. 

Party sighed. Without Fallacy in his sights or his brother's disappearance at the forefront of his mind, and the worry diminished to an exhaustion, a hopelessness, in a way. "Meet Fallacy Fame. Roller derby player and...apparently, out for a good boxing ring. He knows something."

Ghoul stole a glance at Party's hands on the steering wheel - His knuckles weren't even white with pressure. He should wash them, Ghoul had noticed the blood on his palms. Concerning. "Sounded like it...I'd look into it, if I were you. Full detective. Do you, uh, want me to drive?"

While napping in the backseat, to potentially wake up from what felt like a terrible dream was enticing, Party shook his head no. He didn't trust Ghoul, first off. Second off, there was much to think about for the hours long drive, and there was no other time to think about any of it.

-

Halfway to the Station, they ran out of gas. 

Another staple of a day content on putting Party's sanity in flux - Party nearly screamed. 

Sure, the gas light was on, but the gas light was on for the past week and it'd run fine. 

Come to mention it - or, Party opening the trunk and seeing no gas cans -, had the run Kobra disappeared on been for gas for the Trans Am?

Party slammed the trunk with blatant disregard for the mechanism inside, taking a moment to compose himself. He was all over the place. One moment he was burning with cold rage, the next he wanted to take a nap and pray it was all a dream, and the next he was staring down annoyance bubbling up as his next coaster of mood swings. He needed to get a grip. 

Yes, he was annoyed; they ran out of gas, of course he was annoyed. Yes, he was angry, at Fallacy for taunting him when Kobra could be in danger. Yes, he was exhausted, surges of emotions rising and falling at the drop of a hst like they did was mentally and physically draining. He was not annoyed, angry, or tired of or at Ghoul; he should take a step back before he took that out on Ghoul, 

Party was an emotional person; no one knew that better than his brother. Kobra always made Party identity what he was feeling, why he was feeling it, and reminded him taking it out on other's doesn't help. Otherwise, Party was hopelessly confused in his own dangerous cocktail of emotions, and angry with himself about it.

He needed the moment alone, he knee, with the sun beating down on his jacketed shoulders anr no sound other than the whistle of the wind whipping his hair into his face.

The chaotic day became clearer to him - more than flurries of motion and others dotting in and out of it, intruding in the breakdown in his head. There was no use doing anything while he was breaking down like that, he should've seen it sooner with how he threw a tantrum about going to the Market.

It was a detour that took too long, yes, but the benefits outweighed the consequences; part of him must've known that. Kobra would've pointed it out when it started, long before Party realized, if he'd been there.

Party allowed himself a light smile, for himself. Even Witch-knew-where, Kobra helped him. He'd be damned if he couldn't help Kobra.

Walking over to the passenger side door, Party saw Ghoul had the window rolled down. "Stuck 'till we get gas, or a lift."

Ghoul rubbed his forehead, but didn't sigh, oddly enough. "Great...We're closest to Dr. D. You got a radio?"

By radion Ghoul clearly wasn't referring to the car radio, playing static. Party knew that, of course. Ghoul meant the walkie talkies, called radios mostly out of convenience. "'Course I do. D's signal is lost on me, d'you know it?"

"No," Ghoul shook his head, raking his hands through his greasy hair. "I don't keep around many friends, let alone a frequency of one. Closest 'joy you know?"

Party also did not keep around many friends, let alone a frequency of any of 'em besides his brother, which raised an issue. Still, he wasn't going to walk to the nearest gas station alone, and he couldn't leave his car unattended…

"Agent Cherri Cola," he said suddenly. 

"You know Cherri?" Ghoul asked with a raised brow, though sounded pleasantly surprised. He motioned Party to stop leaning in the door so he could get out. "Isn't he all the way at the Crash Track, though?"

"He is, but he owes me a favor; he'll come through." Party could also have Cherri pick up Kobra's bike off Dreams Boulevard on his way back to Zone 6.

It was too recognizable to be stolen, yes - the bright white 27 on the side framed by the blue and white stars of the old American flag gave away the proud owner, but Kobra would ghost Party in a second for letting his bike get ruined in the slightest.

Rummaged through the backseat, after Ghoul decided to sit cross-legged on the trunk, was Party, looking for the radio. Really, it was time to clean it out. Something sentient might've been there.

Kobra left his radio in the Trans Am's backseat, Party discovered with a chill, as he found two radios. Party's was red, with dots of gold paint, but Kobra's was still black, with a badly painted snake on the back. 

There was an eeriness to indistinguishable fear, but Party shrugged it off as he tossed the other radio back, tuning his own to Cherri's static. 

Party kept all the interesting details from Cherri; explaining situations wasn't his forté, especially over radio, but Cherri didn't ask too many questions and agreed once Party brought up The Strawberries And Cookies Incident, which was supposed to be under lock and key. 

It would be a few hours until Cherri was even in Zone 3, let alone where they were. Party wasn't all too happy about that, but there wasn't anything he could do. 

He told Ghoul as much. 

Ghoul pinched the bridge of his nose, then eiped sweat from his brow. "Much dismay as I have toward you, I like your car a lot more, and those batteries are Hell to come by, we're gonna have to turn it off while we're waitin'."

"So no AC, you mean?" Party nearly whined. His earlier discontent and snark aimed at Ghoul, he could safely say, was born of panic and chagrin. And he could whine about AC when the Desert was at its hottest and he was stuck with a near stranger in the middle of nowhere.

Speaking of the heat, if they couldn't sit in the Trans Am then they needed to find shade, because otherwise they'd be baked to a potato crisp in a matter of minutes, and Party rather liked keeping the soles of his boots intact.

"That's exactly what I'm sayin', sorry," Ghoul shrugged, letting one leg fall and swinging it, hitting the bumper every time. Party didn't say anything about it, busy looking around, for any ruins they could take shelter in. 

Maybe something, a few minute's walk away, but it'd be better than becoming as red as his hair before he could even begin to figure out where Kobra was. Obliging Ghoul, Party went and took the keys out, leaving the windows down so nothing potentially explosive could heat up enough to destroy anything. "It's fine, I guess. I might'a seen a place we can camp out in for a little while, 'til Cherri gets here."

Ghoul nodded, hopping off the trunk, casting a wary glance to the direction Party jabbed his thumb in. Party didn't seem reliable when it came to practicalities, like, say, shelter. And gas. And buying necessities.

"It's not like we can get too lost," Party rolled his eyes. The Trans Am on the side of the road was easy to spot, and they were on The Getaway Mile, it was easy to find, unless you were in Zone 6, according to Kobra. "C'mon!"

"I wasn't gonna stay out here by myself," Ghoul scoffed, though there was a lack of aggression or annoyance in his remark. Being civil, what a new concept for them. He followed Party, though, even if he wasn't too sure Party actually saw something, that wasn't a heat mirage.

It was discovered Ghoul was correct after a half-hour of walking and sweating through layers of clothing. It was a heat mirage.

"All that hair dye is starting to get in your brain," Ghoul huffed, in lieu of more panting. Party might've had the leather jacket and tight jeans, but Ghoul had longer sleeves, black jeans, and black hair to his shoulders, so Ghoul might get a small case of dehydration, and he'd already taken the green vest off - Party was actually starting to get concerned.

Party gave him the middle finger, though, but Ghoul stuck his tongue out childishly. "It might. Maybe we should, uh, go back to the Trans Am and nap underneath it."

"You're lacking in the brain cell department." It was true, and it made Party snicker, though that might've been the heat talking. It was funny. It hadn't seemed so hot while they were at the Market - that was because it wasn't noon yet. The sun came out in practically the middle of the night, and the Zones adapted. Meaning it was far more likely for Party and Ghoul to get stuck without gas in heat hot enough to detonate random flammable objects. The ones with those fading DO NOT KEEP ABOVE THIS TEMPERATURE labels?

Party didn't argue, had to focus on trudging through the sand back to the road. There was sand in his boots and it was starting to get painfully uncomfortable. 

At least he didn't have a matted black rat's nest for hair. Besides, Cherri taught Kobra the intricacies of driving a truck or car versus a motorbike and Party's heart still threatened to leap out of his throat whenever he thought about the one and only time Kobra was allowed to drive the Trans Am, so it couldn't take too long?

It couldn't take too long. Party had established his fixation on the time had been because he was having a breakdown, but it was still true - every moment might be Kobra's last, and he needed to spend as much time as possible searching for him. 

-

J was right. Kobra's shoulder was starting to get infected. 

He knew, because while J had told him not to mess with the bandages until J tried to find some new ones when they needed change, J had been asleep, and Kobra was curious. The burn was getting a purplish tinge to it, with more swelling than Kobra thought was right. 

But it was starting to hurt more and more - now that he knew it was infected he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

No more Dracs or Crows had come to see either of them since Kobra had been thrown in with J last night; that worried Kobra, especially because it seemed they had moved him for a reason. Putting him in a cell with someone else was a bigger risk for BLI, and Kibra was almost certain it was because the facility he was in wasn't equipped to deal with multiple prisoners at a time. So why was J still here? 

J could sleep. Kobra couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't new - he'd just never been able to sleep at normal hours and his paranoia fed well into that. He was here for a reason. J was here for a reason.

How long would it take for that reason to be discovered? Would there be any opportunities to escape?

Kobra sighed, raking his hands through his grimy blond hair. It hadn't been washed or cut in a while, and it had always grown spectacularly quickly. His roots were showing, the top went down to his nose now. It was easier to focus on the small, menial things about his capture rather than the impossibility he felt for it all. 

It was like the small sound of Kobra's huff of breath set off a chain reaction - soon after, there were Dracs at the door. With keys - Dracs, with keys.

Kobra's eyes widened, and he scrambled as far back into the corner as he could, curling in on himself, hiding his shoulder, they always hit his shoulder, no, no, J was asleep, they weren't taking J away, were they?

The glass door slid open. 

Kobra squeezed his eyes shut. 

They came in anyway, Kobra could hear the footsteps, the marching, the harsh breathing. No, no, no, no, they couldn't, they couldn't, they couldn't take J and they couldn't take him, no, no -

Kobra screamed.

The gloved fingers digging into his left shoulder were forceful enough to bruise, but he had an infected burn and they were hauling him up by his shoulder, the cruel bastards, oh Destroya, no, no no no no no NO - 

There were too many, Kobra could feel them all touching him, keeping him from thrashing around as he was forced to stand, they were trying to force his eyes open but he wouldn't let them, he wouldn't let them, he didn't want to see those masks when he didn't have his ray gin, the masks, he hated them -

A cold sensation made Kobra panic even more. It wasn't overbearing. It was...calming….

He was drugged. That was a needle. His eyes flew open, wide, staring up at the ceiling because they were forcing his jaw upwards. He was being drugged. Again. Where were they taking him? It wasn't a new facility, was it? Where were they going?

Trying to scream again was pointless he knew that. He gargled out "No!", muffled from the hand over his mouth.

There was a Crow blocking his view to the white ceiling tiles, blurry at the edges, blurry, blurry, "Night night Kiddie...The Aftermath Is Secondary."

And then Kobra's vision went black, and his head stopped spinning.

-

When Jet Star woke up, he didn't know what he was expecting. He was half-expecting to wake up alone, that Kid had been nothing more than another dream born of the loneliness of being a prisoner. He half-expected to see Kid sitting against the cement wall, staring at him with half-lidded eyes and holding the bandages on his shoulder. 

He wasn't expecting to see the Kid sprawled gracelessly across the floor, on his back...in a jacket. It was red and black. Crawling over and conducting closer inspection, Jet found one sleeve to have KOBRA written on it in patched letters, and on the other, just 04. 

Kid's own jacket - Kid's wearing his own jacket.

It scared Jet more than it should've - immediately he clambered over to where his head was. Not only was his hair still blond, it was clean, and the sides were cut shorter. 

But the concerning - the terrifying - part Jet noticed was the bandages on Kobra's neck. There was one bandage, a short rectangular patch, held on by medical tape. 

Jet had seen that once before.

There was nothing he could do about that, not with Kid passed out and them both being prisoners in a top secret Better Living Industries facility. He had an inkling Kobra's shoulder bandages were changed, and hopefully disinfectant was applied. 

Whatever they were planning on doing with Kid, at least they needed him healthy. They were letting him keep a sense of identity, which should've spoken volumes, but when you've been locked up for months, the things that used to mean so much became fond memories, but don't hold the same power over you they used to.

Jet was Jet Star. He didn't need his jacket or his mask or his hair or his ray gun to tell him that. He knew who he was in his heart, and he knew his heart well - 

His heart was already making some bad decisions. Notably, already attaching himself to the companied destiny-inclined Kid, knocked unconscious.

One day soon, the Kid was going to be taken from this small holding hell, to Witchknewwhere, and it would be because of the brand on his neck. 

Just like Jet's brother.

The shaking hands that pulled off the rectangulaire bandage confirmed Jet's fears. There it was, plain as day. Red, irritated skin, surrounding a circular area of raised, angry skin, a brand. Not BLI's signature smiley face logo, no, no, it was a snake, mouth open and fangs ready. A killjoy logo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...probably filled with typos 'cos I wrote it up in a day, but I don't really care. Have fun.


	3. Just A Sad Song, Nothing To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison isn't the best at planning ahead or controlling his emotions.
> 
> Kobra Kid has the ice, not the fire.

“How do you sleep under a car in this heat?”

Woken by a harsh kick to the ribs, Party instinctively sat up, only to bang his forehead against the Trans Am’s metal framework.

Miraculously, he avoided the vulgarity in his vocabulary. Instead, he eyed the killjoy who kicked him, crouching and staring at Party questioningly.

Agent Cherri Cola.

“‘S colder,” Party mumbled. It wasn’t true, really, but sleeping underneath the Trans Am was better than the alternative - burning to death and earning a few scars for his efforts. 

Cherri snickered, rolling his eyes. “Is that why you made a new friend, too?”

Party returned the exaggerated eye roll, though confused. He didn’t make any new friends, not in the past and certainly not when he was in the midst of a crisis. The heat had gone down, he noted, as he tried to roll out from under the Trans Am.

Then he found he could not. He couldn’t roll away, especially from the gravel digging into his back and the sand imbedded where his shirt had rolled up, because there was an arm slung over him. Specifically, Fun Ghoul’s arm. Great. He was a cuddler.

Party let out an uncomfortable huff of frustration before throwing Ghoul’s arm off him, glaring at Cherri before any comments more could be made on the matter and continued his task of returning to the sun’s cruel rays. Once out, he dusted off his clothes. His jacket and yellow domino mask were both in the backseat of the Trans Am, he noted idly. 

“You look like Destroya vomited on you...What’s up with that?” Cherri asked, seeing Party was finally done. The one-over Cherri gave him made Party feel like some sort-of a suspect in an investigation, but Cherri looked more concerned than any Crow interrogator Party had ever heard of.

“Bit of a breakdown,” Party admitted with a smile to himself, a slight thing unable to reach his eyes. He was talking about running out of gas and his little meltdown. Cherri didn’t need to know that, right?

Cherri opened his mouth to say something, probably something important, but Party cut him off before he could, taking a quick breath and then spitting it out, the syllables rolling off his tongue with ease despite the cinder block weight they dropped on his shoulders - “And Kobra’s missing, so that may have something to do with it too.”

Staring. Cherri only stared at him, blinking slowly. And then blinking again. Party offered a charismatic smile, the air suddenly heavy, but not all of the weight on Party, for once. He wasn’t joking, and the smile wasn’t meant as a joke. 

Besides, he could never joke about something so serious. Well, that was a lie, but if he did joke there was always the unlying worry. Like when Kobra was at his races for a little too long, Party would jokingly ask Cherri if Kobra had simply up and disappeared when he drove up to the Crash Track.

Then again, whenever he joked in the past he had already knew Kobra was going to be okay, and Cherri would shake his head and nod in whatever direction Kobra was going to be in. Then again, whenever he joked there was no underlying panic tinging his voice. 

Echoing Party’s words, after minutes of nothing but the whisper of the wind breaking the silence, Cherri murmured, wide-eyed locked with Party’s. “Kobra’s...missing?”

Party nodded, subconsciously raking his hands through his hair. There wasn’t much he wanted to say on the matter, other than he was going to watch the Desert burn if he didn’t find his brother (but even that was a far away thought, out here when the sun had cooled down and he was with Cherri and the familiar Trans Am was right next to him).

He opened his mouth - and closed it just as quickly. In the back of his head, he wanted to tell Cherri about the Market, about the taunting and the neon green hair and his blind rage, but the words weren’t forming in his throat and his mouth dried when he could formulate one. 

Cherri deserved to know. Cherri was Kobra’s second closest friend, saw him as much if not more than Party did. Surely he would inquire about what Party knew? Right? Shouldn’t he?

No, no, no, no he shouldn’t, no, Party realized. The one uttered sentence was all he could manage. Why could he not talk about it? Shouldn’t he be talking about it, spilling all those deep dark fears he had about where Kobra could be and the grim realities that rang true?

“Party? Party, did you hear me?”

Party abruptly shook himself out of his thoughts, Cherri’s voice vaguely in the background telling him he needed to knock it off. If he couldn’t talk about the specifics of Kobra’s disappearance yet, he could at least hold up a conversation. “What? What’d you say?”

One sigh later, Cherri repeated himself, though there was more pity dripping like honey than Party was remotely okay with. “I asked if you wanted any help searchin’.”

“Get me back to the Station and I won’t need it,” Party answered, more to himself than to Cherri, if only to get his thoughts back on track. No need to panic. No need to have too much fear. It had only been a few hours since he first had proof, nothing too horrific could’ve happened in a few hours. 

Of course, it took less than a second for the white hot energy of a ray gun blast to tear through the heart.

“Oh,” Cherri’s expression was surprised, but only mildly. There hadn’t been a shred of expression his face since he’d been told the news, even with each of his words drenched in emotions Party couldn’t concern himself with when he was busy regulating his own (and finding his brother, of course). “That why you got Ghoulie under there?”

“Yeah, Dr. D stuck ‘im with me,” said Party, schooling his features back into neutral. Not too emotional, not too stuck in his head. His emotional issues were probably why he never checked the gas gauge and he ended up on the side of the road with Agent Cherri Cola, anyway. When they weren’t talking about Kobra, it was oh-so-much easier.

“Was no one else available?” Cherri said, tilting his head, an innocent gesture of confusion and questioning.

Party saw a flash of neon green hair and had to force himself not to double over. Where Cherri had stood was Fallacy Fame, with his smug expression and neon green hair and childish head tilt. Then it was just Cherri again, asking a question.

An overwhelming panic pulled him under, swiftly, swiftly, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what was going on but he knew he couldn’t stand to see Cherri show anything - as simple as a gesture - similar to Fallacy Fame, that rose a panic in his chest he hadn’t realized he had.

You’re wasting time, Fallacy’s voice taunted, your brother could be dead for all you care, isn’t that right?  
Party begged and he begged and he begged but the taunts wouldn’t stop, they wouldn’t stop and he wanted to yank his hair out just to give him a distraction, he was going to find Kobra, Kobra was going to be alright, he was going to be alright!  
Then why was he choking on his own tears? His own fear? If everything was going to be alright?

Was that why he’d been shaking the entire time?

His anger had all drained out, the anger filling him to the brim all morning, instead replaced by the fear lurking underneath it. 

It wasn’t panic in it’s poetic sense. It wasn’t fear in the commercial variety. It was a pulsing, seizing ball in his chest, tightening it’s hold on his lungs every time he tried to breath, refusing to go away even as it scattered any thoughts he might’ve formed and refused him the chance to articulate any that he managed to filter through. The panic blurring the distinction between how he was acting, how he was supposed to act, and how he wanted to act, the distinction between what he was supposed to be thinking and the swirling whirlpool of his head.

The panic that had him gasping for breath and falling ineptly against the side of the Trans Am, one of the backseat windows, clawing at his rib cage like it would help. It wasn’t helping, it wasn’t, but if he just tried a little harder, he wanted to breath, why couldn’t he breath? It was Cherri, it was Cherri, it was Cherri, it wasn’t Fallacy, it was Cherri. Cherri was fine...Right?

“Party? Party! What’s going on?!” Cherri’s voice was close, but it felt as distant as it could be - and then Cherri made a fatal mistake.

He touched Party’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” It burned, it burned, he hated when people touched him, why did Cherri touch him? He violently flinched back, hurting his neck but he didn’t care, staring at Cherri with feral, wide-eyes, as he fought a losing battle to get his breath back - he squeezed his eyes shut. The light was starting to hurt. His lungs were screaming and every single muscle in his body felt electrified, Cherri’s touch on his shoulder alighting sparks that travelled through his veins and made him stop clawing at his ribs and start clawing at the skin he could see to get the burning to go away, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

“Party. Party, you need to calm down, you need to breathe- can you take a deep breath?” 

Cherri’s voice wasn’t as loud as the pounding inside Party’s head. But even the pounding inside his head was getting quieter and quieter as he desperately tried to get air back into his lungs before the black dots that’d begun to take over his vision made him pass out. 

What did Cherri say? Breathe? What would Kobra tell him to do?

Kobra would whisk him away to the backseat, away from any on-lookers and talk him through it. Kobra would take his hands away from where he was digging into his skin. Kobra would tell him to talk, because to talk he needed to breathe and if he was talking then he was breathing and if he was breathing he couldn’t pass out and if he didn’t pass out then they could keep talking. 

But Kobra wasn’t where Party needed him. Party wasn’t where Kobra needed him to be.

Party’s eyes snapped back open, flooding with the same uncontained emotion as before. Kobra needed Party and Party wasn’t there. Instead of helping his brother he was having a panic attack over an illusion and a touch on his shoulder.

He was useless. He was useless, but he was not going to pass out.

He was not going to pass out, choked by his own fear, paralyzed with his own hysteria, unable to function. Cherri couldn’t help. Kobra wasn’t here. So who was left?

Party was left with himself. The fight all in his head. The one making him shake and choke and claw at his arms.

All in his head, right?

Without realizing it, the short, constricted breaths he’d been trying to take were getting longer, the air making it further and further into his lungs. It wasn’t as easy it was supposed to be, he still had to force the air in and out, open his throat and let it pass. 

His hands were balled into fists as much as they possibly could be, clutching onto the windowsill of the Trans Am like a lifeline, a saving grace, his knuckles white with pressure. Holding onto the Trans Am, not clawing at his arms. 

Party make eye contact with Cherri, now panting, shaky, exhausted breaths. The black dancing in the edges of his vision faded, but the sun was directly next to Cherri’s head from the angle he was looking from so he was blind anyway. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to talk and he wanted to stay here and calm down and go back to being Party Poison and wait. Wait until the sun fell to let the Desert know how much of a wreck he was, not in tears, but in his systematic plea on a radio station.

But of course, Cherri shattered the illusion before Party could even begin to form the theory in his head. He didn’t have the energy to be mad - and Cherri looked almost as shaken as Party felt. He calmer now, though still not okay, really. “...Kobra told me you had panic attacks. I never, I never thought - that was...Party, that was terrifying.”

With a half-broken smile to ease Cherri’s concern, Party finally, finally removed his hands from holding onto the windowsill. Relief spread through his palm, he felt, and as he watched fresh blood dribble down his palm he vaguely recalled that it was the third time he had caused his palms to bleed today. The first being at the Station, when he first drew blood. The second at the Market incident where he opened the thin scabs, and the third out here, having a pathetic panic attack and accidentally opening them again. He didn’t even know how he could’ve done that. “I guess I’ll have to talk to Kobra about tellin’ people my secrets, huh?”

“Or you could talk about screaming at me?” Cherri was still staring at Party, his voice incredulous in the worst way.

Party felt self-conscious about it immediately. He was having a panic attack at the time, okay, there was no logical reason he shouldn’t have yelled at Cherri for touching him when he was very clearly in no state to want or need physical contact. “I don’t like people touching me,” he defended, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw in his uncomfortable state.

“S’why you shoved me to the ground earlier, wasn’t it?”

Party spun around, hair flying around his face, confused for all about a second - and then it clicked and reality seemed a bit worse for wear than it already was. There was Fun Ghoul, leaning against the hood on the other side of the Trans Am, looking at Party in a mixture of what might’ve been concealed pity and mock amusement. 

At least someone was going to treat him normally and not like he’d been a wreck minutes prior.

“I already warned you once,” Party hummed. No, no he wasn’t going to give the Witch or Destroya or whoever was out there the satisfaction of watching him him crumble like paper. He was going to keep going, and ignore this ever happened. “And then you didn’t listen. It was your fault, really.”

“Just like it was Cherri’s fault you flinched?” Ghoul, in turn, asked. The unreasonable, incoherent part of Party’s brain that was in control, wanted to stick his tongue out at Ghoul. When everything was much too serious and too much emotional, Party either reverted to anger or to humor and it changed, constantly. 

He was angry earlier. He could be silly, right?

Yeah, Kobra was missing; Kobra was missing and Party was planning on strangling the Witch if he had too so he could find his brother. But that was for another time - for the time being, he had to pull himself together in the only ways he could without his brother by his side to tell him how he was supposed to do that.

“Yeah, yeah it was,” Party said casually with a shrug. It was Cherri’s fault he touched him. Cherri’s fault, and the more nonchalant he talked about it, the less likely they were to keep this conversation up. 

On impulse, he opened the backseat door to the Trans Am. Meanwhile, he could hear Ghoul scoff. “What’s your problem?”

Party rummaged around for the second time, in this exact spot on Route Guano, only hours apart. His mask, his mask, his yellow domino mask. It was right next to his jacket - the latter had been in the car longer than Party would like to admit and the former had been forsaken when he and Ghoul had gotten back, before they napped. “My problem, Ghoul , is that I don’t know where those hands have been, and I don't know if I want that anywhere near me.”

It was a joke. Obviously. But Ghoul huffed nonetheless; Party could almost feel him rolling his eyes. “Did you forget I’m not the Zone whore here?”

He held it up triumphantly, studying it, ignoring Ghoul. It was a bit old and the color was starting to fade, he needed to repaint it, but the familiar yellow - and the turquoise-blue dots, and the black diamonds around the two eye holes - gave a sense of comfort. Relief coursed through his muscles the moment he put it on; the same thing that happened with his palm when he took it off the windowsill except on a larger, much more welcomed, scale.

It was probably still too hot out for his iconic blue Dead Pegasus jacket, but he put it on anyway. It helped give a sense of identity, and a concrete anchor as to who he was, other than a Venom Brother, was something he needed. And Ghoul’s comment - the one he was ignoring -, hit a bit too close to be comfortable. He wasn’t a whore, he knew that. So why didn’t the rest of the Zones?

Whatever. His jacket and his mask gave him his identity back. Party Poison, the hot-headed half of the Venom Brothers, crash queen extraordinaire and revolution enthusiast. Party Poison, the killjoy who was going to find his brother if he had to set the City ablaze for it.

Party Poison wasn’t a mask he wore. It was an identity, but it wasn’t a fake. He was Party, but sometimes, sometimes he regressed back into the panicked, scared kid who had narrowly escaped through the Tunnels. Sometimes he needed the reminder he wasn’t helpless anymore. 

Before he spaced out again, before Ghoul could comment on how he neglected to answer him, Party turned to Cherri - “So? Are we going to the Station or are we just mingling? No time for mingling.”

“Funny coming from the guy who just spent - “ Ghoul started to snicker, but, after having moved to stand next to Cherri while Party was finding his jacket and mask, Cherri cuffed him in the back of his head before he could finish. 

“Ghoul doesn’t like that you dragged him out here,” Cherri shrugged, a ‘what can you do?’ gesture, though Party had already spent a few hours with Ghoul and knew Ghoul was just about as ecstatic about their journey together as Party was. “‘N he’s always testy when he wakes up. I brought you out some gas, was that not what’s going on...?”

Looking at Cherri quizzically, Party racked his memories for the radio call with Cherri a few hours ago - Destroya, it felt like centuries ago - for any mention of bringing gas. Party was positive he had asked if Cherri could drive them to the Station. Never anything about gas. “Uh...no, it’s not. You’re supposed to give us a ride down to the Station…? Like I said?”

“When did you ever say that?” 

“Wasn’t that the only thing I told you?” Party hesitated. Owing Cherri carbons for gas was not on his agenda - the ride over to the Station was covered with his slight black mail, but gas was notoriously hard to get out in Zone 6 and Party didn’t have the carbons to pay for it.

And he was never going to stoop low enough to flirt with Agent Cherri Cola. 

Cherri was a great guy and all, but he was Kobra’s friend and also not Party’s type. Party went for the doesn’t-know-him-and-has-never-seen-him-have-a-panic-attack type, usually. Speaking of Cherri, Cherri was rolling his eyes. He did that a lot. “No, no, you either talked too quickly to understand or were talking incoherently.”

“...Oh,” Party shrugged. Oh, great, Cherri had known he was a wreck before he’d even had a panic attack (and at the time thought he had calmed down rather well, actually.) “Well, can you take us down to the Station? I can get the Trans Am later.”

Cherri shrugged. “It seems a bit counter productive to not take the gas, but sure. Whatever you say. What’re you gonna do with ‘er?”

“Leave her here. Catch a ride with you I can get some carbons for gas later and come back with Pony.”

“And not with me?” Cherri said, questioningly. Cherri seemed to be doing a lot of question asking. It was justified, but still, Party didn’t particularly feel comfortable with it. The idea of answering threw his brain for a loop right now.

Wasn’t this where Party was supposed to tell Cherri something? Oh, right. “I was thinking on your way back out to 6 you could maybe take a little detour on Dreams Boulevard?”

He phrased it as a question, a request, but it wasn’t, not really. Party knew that. Cherri knew that. Did Ghoul know that? Who cared? 

“Why would I go there?” Being the superstitious type and all, Cherri believed in the legend that gave Dreams Boulevard its name - it’s real, full name being The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams - and hated driving on it. Cherri hated anywhere in the Zones that had a bad history, so to Party he might as well hate the ground he walks on.

“Kobra’s bike,” Party said neutrally. About as neutral as he’d managed before his panic attack. His emotions and his heart beat were so unpredictable he was beginning to think it was dangerous to let him think too much, run the risk of setting off his own time bomb if he didn’t tread in his thoughts lightly enough.

It was exhausting. Party had just woken up from a nap; he should’ve felt reenergized. Instead, he was twice as tired, and still had places to be and a brother to find.

Kobra was the first priority. Maybe Party was a time bomb - or a cherry bomb, as Ghoul so fondly referred to him as -, but he didn’t care when he would explode so long as Kobra was safe and out of the debris and blast radius.

“Can we go now?” Party added, before Cherri could say anything else on the matter of his detour to Dreams Boulevard. Without waiting for an answer, after a quick swipe of the brown sack, he started toward Cherri’s old, beat-up pick up truck, the one that was actually cleaned out but in horrible condition paint and interior wise.

He wasn’t looking forward to the torn leather seats compared to the Trans Am. As it turned out, he didn’t have to fret, because before he could remember there had been two witnesses to Party’s behavior Ghoul was already running past him yelling “Shotgun!”

Why did Party keep forgetting Ghoul existed?

Maybe he really was a Raven, Party thought, not putting up a fight as he climbed into the back of the truck. The truck bed was nicer than the passenger side, he beat. A Raven out in the Zones wasn’t technically the bird. They were the people on the bad side of long dead Gods and feathered itches - they were bad luck.

If Ghoul was a Raven, like his hair suggested, maybe that was why Party couldn’t seem to get over his emotions and think logically.

Then again, Kobra had always told him he didn’t know how to listen to his head rather than follow his heart, it didn’t matter which path it would take him down. Staying in his head too long was the reason Fallacy set him off so much, why he couldn’t help but panic when he saw Fallacy instead of Cherri. 

Ghoul didn’t have any reason to be any of the thoughts in Party’s head. He wasn’t too privy to the situation and he had no idea how deep the ties between Kobra and Cherri were and certainly not how far Party was willing to go to get his brother back. Ghoul faded into the shadows when he didn’t feel needed, and Party only noticed the things he needed.

It was sort-of nice, actually. Ghoul was just there, and maybe he and Party were both Ravens, and they bickered and they weren’t too civil and had known each other for maybe seven hours, but he was there and Party needed that presence. 

The ride back to the Station wasn’t too exciting. The wind kept whipping back into Party’s hair, though, which was irritating - he needed to get it cut, but at the same time, he wanted every killjoy and Better Living Industries official and citizen to know that he was Party Poison, and he was the killjoy who rescued his brother when all the odds were stacked against him. 

It didn’t give him any time to clear his head, not really, because it felt short comparatively to speeding down desolate roads in silence and AC. He was still a jumbled mess of thoughts and fears, but that anger had made another reappear. His emotions were almost as influx as direction of the wind. 

Kobra always did say he gave his best speeches when he was upset.

_

Dr. D didn’t ask any questions as to why it took them so long, nor why they came back with Agent Cherri Cola, and didn’t even complain about the blatant lie that they couldn’t find the parsley.

Show Pony was nowhere to be found. Part of Party was relieved.

After Party had obligingly handed over the stupid Capri Suns and Power Pup, Dr. D had vaguely gestured Party over to all his radio equipment - before Party could ask what any of it was supposed to do, Ghoul pulled Dr. D into a corner for a hushed conversation Party saw no reason to eavesdrop on. 

He hesitantly sat down, in a spare office chair haphazardly shoved underneath a desk, staring at all the buttons and dials and equipment and a mess of cords he could never begin to understand. The only signal he knew the meaning of was the boldly labelled ‘ON AIR’ light, which was not on.

The bulky headphones sitting on a hook were gently placed around Party’s neck. 

Looking up, confused, (he felt like he looked a bit hopeless, a bit useless, sitting there staring and not actually doing anything, like a sad coyote pup) Party saw it was Show Pony. Pony wasn’t frowning exactly, but they certainly weren’t smiling. “Headphones. Blocks out the sound ‘n chaos of here, y’know?”

“Gonna find out,” Party shook his head. Where had Pony just appeared from? He was confused about that, too, but not enough to ask, because Pony seemed to be helping him and he wanted to get his message out as quick as possible, he was exhausted and he needed to find his brother. 

Pony sighed - Party almost thought he heard a sniffle. “I can work the board. I’ll tell ya when ta speak.”

After a few quick words of agreement, Party steeled himself. Don’t sound too emotionless, but if he started crying he was going to slaughter the desert himself solely so no one could remember that incident. One or two people, he could handle, but not hundreds.

“And….5...4...2….3...1….Go!”

Party almost caught himself asking if 3 came after 2 - instead he was silent for a beat too long. Then he opened his mouth, and, like blood from a wound, the words poured out.

“Killjoys, Neutrals, Tumbleweeds, ‘n Motorbabies. I’m not Dr. Death Defying and you know that. You know who I am. My name is Party Poison, a crash queen and a flirt and...and the brother of The Kobra Kid. You know him? The blond at the Crash Track, winning every race, best bike ‘round...yeah, that’s him. My brother. 

“And someone took him. You already can guess who. Someone took him,” Party snarled, his words taking a darker tone as his eyes narrowed on nothing other than the blinking red ON AIR light. “And I’m going to get him back. I will tear each and every Zone apart before I let him die in white scrubs.”

True to his nature, with the dark threat to his underlying words, Party’s fervent passion was spilling through, infecting every listener, spreading through every air wave. 

“Help me find him. I don’t want your pity and I don’t want your sympathy and I don’t care what you call me. Help me or I’m going to bring that City down myself, with or without you.”

It was true, and that was dangerous. Better Living Industries let the Zones run peacefully most of the time, or as peaceful as they got. But if a killjoy did something too drastic they upped the patrols, they upped the body counts and they upped the security. 

Setting fire to the heart of the City would start that sevenfold, but Party was prepared to drop the match.

“I am Party Poison. And I’m going to save my brother. Help or not.”

Party shook his head,a gesture to himself, and motioned for Pony to get him off the air, however that was supposed to work. It wasn’t his best speech, it wasn’t his most inspiring, it wasn’t meant to be a call to arms. It was meant to be a plea. He was going to find his brother - he needed all the help he could get. The prospect of anyone who helped because his words swayed them made Party sick to his stomach.

Kobra’s life was certainly worth more than a speech. Kobra’s life shouldn’t depend on Party’s prose and Party shouldn’t have to beg anyone to understand them on air.

The headphones now safely set onto a nearby shelf, the chair pushed in, Party pressed his domino mask closer to his face in hopes he could get another dose of the relief he’d felt earlier. It calmed him, but only slightly. 

His transmission was out. The entire Desert knew his brother was missing, and much as Party hated to admit it, Kobra’s fate might just be in the hands of killjoys Party had never known.

“We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.” 

Party looked up to find Pony giving him a frown, worry lines forming on a usually carefree face. At least Party wasn’t the only one with a toll for his emotions. A part of him, the part he kept from the public eye, was secretly glad. Kobra’s disappearance shouldn’t affect him and him only. “Yeah...I’m hopin’ so. The sooner we find him…”

There was no need to add the rest of the sentence. ‘The sooner we find him the more likely we’ll find him alive’. Every second dwindled the chances, but it wasn’t filling Party with panic, though the tight ball in his chest was still somewhat underneath his skin (nowhere near how bad it had been earlier), it wasn’t filling him with anger, either; he just wanted to find Kobra. He had to stay out of his head and quite honestly his heart for that.

“I know we will. Cherri and I can take to searchin’ everywhere here an’ in Zone 1 if you an’ Ghoulie wanna take 3 ‘n four,” said Pony, jabbing his thumb toward Ghoul, who was still talking with Dr. D, and Cherri, who at some point had migrated over to checking out a filing cabinet filled with some old records or CDs or whatever else could be kept in this old basement. 

Honestly, Cherri had been mostly forgotten about that. Why did Party keep forgetting people? Ugh. Too much of his attention was focused on thinking of how to find Kobra and not actually finding him, which meant he was still too in his head to notice most little details (and big details. Like, you know, who he was in the same room with and who witnessed some of his most embarrassing moments).

“Yeah, but Ghoul seems like a bit o’ a Raven, y’know? Nothin’ good has happened since I been with ‘im,” Party shrugged nonchalantly. Out of his head, for the last time.

“Nothing good has happened to you today,” Pony scoffed. Pony wasn’t wrong. “You found out your brother is missing on top of all that mess you got goin’ on in your head. Don’t blame that on him. He’s no Raven.”

“One of us has to be,” Party huffed, not defensive exactly, but Pony was right and he didn’t like it. Since when did Pony start using their brain cells? “And...I, uh, may need to know if you have any gas cans here.”

Pony squinted, a mocking exasperating grin forming as they crossed their arms and leaned over just a bit too far into Party’s personal space. “And why would you need to know that? Does it have anything to do with why you brought Soda Pop?”

Well, of course, Party snapped in his head. He always had to remind himself that Pony naturally had no idea what boundaries were and certainly loved physical contact. “Ran outta gas. You got any? I ain’t walking around two Zones.”

“Got some last week at Tommy’s. Real grouch, he is, but it was a good deal. How much you need?”

“As much as I can get away with not paying for.” It was true. The Doc and Pony had offered all the services at their disposable but the only not inflated priced gas station was Dead Pegasus, and they were always out. It was ridiculously expensive wherever else.

Pony nodded; they almost took Party’s hand to lead him to wherever they were skating, but changed their mind last second and simply pushed off with their hot pink skates. Party was glad.

The five gas cans (five! How often did they get out?) were all crammed into one crevice or another, all full and three covered in dust. 

Party took one before Pony could make any comments. It wasn’t too heavy, but then again he did run around for a living and sometimes did pull-ups solely because Kobra said he couldn’t do more than twenty. “Could you be a dear and maybe take us back to the Trans Am…?”

With an over dramatic sigh and eye roll, Pony said, “Why can’t Ghoulie take you? Or did you make him ride in your spider car too?”

“...Oh, you shut up, she’s beautiful,” Party said matter-of-factly, uncrossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. He wanted to go start searching already. “Of course I did. It’s just a while up The Getaway Mile. Please?”

“I was going to anyway, darlin’,” Pony brushed a few strands out of their hair, tone too honey sweet for Party’s liking. He loved Pony, really, how couldn’t you, but he’d known Pony long enough to know they had a tendency to throw themselves into the personality they were known for when they were upset and Party clashed with that personality a lot. “Ghoulie! Time to go!”

Ghoul looked up from whatever he was whispering about, a bit like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck - Party wasn’t paying enough attention to his answer, instead electing to make his way outside. 

A plan was forming in his head. In no way, shape, or form did it seem like a good idea, but it was a plan and one that might get him some info he needed.

_

“Kid? Kid, you need to wake up, are you awake?”

Kobra groaned, rolling onto his side - then hissing immediately and snapping his eyes open. His shoulder was in pain and he was tired and wait, wasn’t he still in that white lab?

He looked around frantically, but there was nothing brightly lit in his field of vision. Did they move him again? Did they knock him out again? Why did they do that, didn’t they know it wasn’t technically safe to knock someone out so often? 

The lighting was dim again, maybe gray or white concrete - but it was the outline of a person that caught his tired eyes. A person with longish curly hair, in the same scrubs Kobra was in.

“J!” He meant to shout it, out of joy and to celebrate the panic that instantly melted out of his chest, but his voice came out hoarse and cracking, but he didn’t care. He was still smiling like an idiot. Seeing J meant that he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t in a lab and if he wasn’t in a lab that meant there were no doctors and if there were no doctors there were no Draculoids or Crows. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Kid…” J returned his smile - but something was off. Something in his expression was off. Concerned, maybe a bit scared. Why, though?

Kobra frowned, pulling himself into a moderate sitting position on his elbows. He turned his head to look out the glass walls but his neck flared in pain, causing him to flinch. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” J murmured; he sounded upset, but not at Kobra, a look in his eye like he was caught in his head. It reminded him of Party, the look he would get when he was trying to keep a secret from Kobra, when he would try to tell him he’d done nothing wrong, they needed the money and he didn’t do anything that could get him hurt.

Kobra wanted to wipe it off J’s face immediately. 

“They - they took me to a lab...Group of Dracs ‘n a few Crows and then there was this pristine white room and a mean looking doctor with a mask on and then they - I think they drugged me again….And now I’m back here,” Kobra explained, hoping maybe the limited information he had could somehow snap J back into the here and now, back to Kobra. Just like with Party.

J was silent for a minute. When he spoke, it was quiet as a whisper, maybe it was even a whimper, but there was fear, there was fear behind it. “...Look at yourself.”

Confused, Kobra followed directions. And there was his jacket. His jacket! The red, ratty old leather thing, a comfort but nowhere near as warm or homelike as his brother’s jacket. It was still in decent shape, the old leather worn and broken in.

He noticed that there was no more half-undone thread in some of the seams that had previously needed sewn back together. They didn’t anymore.

“What did they do?” Kobra muttered to himself, confusion still prominent, but concern not evident. He had his jacket back, and it was sewn back together, who was he to complain? Well. A prisoner, he was a prisoner that had a right to complain, but he was going to look at the bright side like Party always jokingly told him. 

J gulped; Kobra barely caught it at the corner of his vision, but he did. Why? So, he turned his attention away from his jacket, back to J. “What are you not telling me?” He was used to people trying to lie to him. He knew tells. And gulping was an easy one - Party was never that easy to catch lying. 

“I…” J started, then cut himself off, like he couldn’t figure out the best way to phrase it. Kobra narrowed his eyes, and J continued, hesitant. “Your neck. They...they branded you.”

J’s voice was soft, hollow, strained. It didn’t register with Kobra for a second before his hands flew to his neck, to where the flare of pain had gone up when he tried to look at the glass. 

He flinched, eyes wide, immediately beginning to ghost his fingers over the inflicted area rather than slam his hand down like he’d tried. It hurt to think about, to touch, but he could feel raised, abrasive skin. Part of him wanted to vomit.

The other part of him saw red.

But he kept his composure. He kept his voice quiet, but like ice, not at J but at the world, at Better Living Industries. Ice, he could do that. “What is it?”

“It’s a - it’s a snake, I think,” J stuttered, clearly not expecting Kobra’s reaction. “Uh, yeah, a snake, in a circle, sorta like a logo...A killjoy logo. I think, I think it’s - “

“It’s my logo.” He knew it. There was no debate. He was the only killjoy he knew with a logo like that, the snake with the fangs out contained in a circle. “It’s my own logo. And this is my jacket...They’re planning something. I do believe I want nothing to do with it.”

There was no panic, there was no inquiry. It was cold, it was fact, it was calm. Kobra would say his own indifference to getting his own logo branded onto his neck was scaring him, but that would be a lie, because he wasn’t indifferent.

He was unlike his brother in many ways. There were a few traits they shared and only showed different ways.

Party’s anger was very poetic, very theatrical and obvious. It was a flame, like his hair. Kobra, on the other hand, his anger was silent, building and building and building without his companions ever knowing, a blank expression on his face and a lack of emotion in his tone. It was nice. 

That ice was coming back, but he wasn’t like Party, he didn’t feel it welling in his chest and running through his veins to replace the blood. It was just...there, he knew it was. There was no change in his body language to hint to it, no facial expression. 

“Yeah…” J laughed nervously, not much of a laugh to a huff of breath - not out of amusement, though.Maybe it was worry. “You - you should be worried. You should be really, really worried.”

“And why is that?” Kobra asked quickly, not a snap to his voice, though there should’ve been. He sat up, crossing his legs. Experimentally, he lifted his arm again - it didn’t hurt as much. They bandaged and treated his shoulder, didn’t they?

Another beat of silence from J prompted Kobra to narrow his eyes again. He didn’t like when he was denied answers to questions he had. Finally, J spoke, a broken melancholy to his voice (it sounded so much like Party, the hurt there, Kobra nearly dropped his attitude. Nearly.), “I...I’ve seen it before. When I got here, I wasn’t - I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just me.”

Kobra waited for J to gather both himself and his words. J’s shoulders were drooping, eyes downcast; he wasn’t going to prompt, anymore.

Was this why there had been dried blood in the lab?

With a deep inhale, J continued. “My mom. My mom and my brother were with me. We were- we were passing through Zone 3, just to go down to some candy shop. My ray gun was outta batteries and my mama, she wasn’t a killjoy, she was a Neutral, she didn’t - well. Either way, here we are.”

“What happened to them?” Kobra asked, putting a hopefully comforting hand on J’s leg. 

It was funny how a change in environment can change the things he’d grown used to for years. Not having his gloves felt unusual, but unimportant; how odd.

“They, uh, they didn’t want a Neutral. I don’t know what happened to her…” Kobra noticed a few tears hitting the ground. One would think after so many years of comforting he would be good at it, but Kobra genuinely didn’t know what to do other than be patient. “So it was me and my brother. His name was - his name was Ayvan. Too young to pick out a ‘joy name, y’know? Would’a been ten next year I think…”

J sighed, reminiscing. Kobra nodded, confused as to what else he could do. But J kept telling his story. “They took him away one day. I was asleep...Just like today. They brought him back. He was, uh, he wasn’t in his old clothes like you are, but they did clean him up. Only difference was the brand they put on his neck...Right there, right where yours is. It was a lightning bolt striking a star…”

The story was winding down to a close, Kobra could tell. And he wanted it too, as selfish as that sounded. He’d known J for, what, a few hours now? Kobra couldn’t handle J sounding so much like Party. They couldn’t look more different, but yet, they still had the same tone when they talked too much about the past, the same shattered glass tears. 

“He was here, with me, for another week I think. They took him again.” J looked up, making eye contact with Kobra - Kobra had to look away, too much like Party, shattered stained glass, -, wiping away his tears and practically hissing the next few words out. “And he never came back.”

“...You think I’m going to end up like your brother,” Kobra said slowly, trying to recall the name. “Like Ayvan?”

J nodded. “I think everything else has been the same so far except the person and the history.” He dropped his voice. “I think you need to get out of here.”

“My brother is going to find me,” Kobra said confidently, not a shred of doubt in his voice, loud enough for any cameras around to hear.

He knew, he knew Party would do anything to find him. Party had damn near done it before, though it wasn’t to find him but to keep him alive. Party was a hurricane - there was nothing that could keep him from finding Kobra, right?

But even Kobra didn’t know where he was...If he didn’t, and he was here, how could Party know? He could be in the heart of Battery City for twenty years and never know it.

Ironic phrasing considering at the current trajectory he was probably going to be dead before his next birthday. Wasn’t his birthday supposed to be sometime soon? He and Party were going to celebrate with a race.

Sure, Kobra did love his races when he raced competitively, but Party rarely ever came and watched, and Party didn’t own a motorbike so they could never race each other like they’d been joking about doing for years. This year, Party was planning on borrowing Cherri’s old bike, fixing it up in the Garage everyone stored their vehicles in down by The Roulette Races while Kobra pretended not to know.

He was spacing out, he realized, and zoned back in. J was looking at him with concern. Kobra shook his head a don’t worry about me. With the story he’d just been told, it was impossible to not worry, but Kobra wasn’t thinking about his imminent doom.

It would be a real shame if he died. They would never get to have that race.

“We need to leave,” J echoed his own words, still a whisper as his eyes darted to the glass door separating them from the Draculoids, Crows, and BLI personal that roamed the halls. It was probably the only thing keeping them alive. 

“Why did they leave you?” Kobra blurted, instead of answering J’s plea. J, telling him he needed to escape. J, who he didn’t even know the full name of. 

J shrugged, self-conscious and uncomfortable. “How should I know? I’ve been here for two years, never moved, never had any company besides you and Ayvan. I told you what I needed to tell you. It’s your choice now.”

“Do you know sign language?” Kobra asked - for this, he kept his voice low, unlike everything else he’d said. 

J nodded.

Kobra gave him a reassuring smile, took a minute to get his brain to listen, and slowly, painstakingly spelled out the individual letters - he’d forgotten most of the actual signs for words, but he always remembered the alphabet. “You could escape with me,” he signed, “Or else I’m not leaving.”

J shook his head. He looked up to the ceiling, as if trying to recall, and signed back, just as slow as Kobra, but it was easier for Kobra to understand that way. “You go. Like I said. Two years. I’m fine.”

With a frustrated huff, Kobra remade his point, his loud breathing the only sound in the cell. “Come with me. Or no leaving for me.”

“No. I’m fine. You go. They’ll take you otherwise.”

Giving a mocking, slightly insane smile to prove his point, Kobra laughed to himself. “I can’t leave by myself.”

“Why not?” J tilted his head to the side, confused, which Kobra found funny.

“No gun,” he signed, “No glove. No knife. And I’m afraid.”

“There’s plenty to be afraid of…” J said, out loud this time, a passing comment but one that stuck with Kobra for the time being. Then he went back to signing, the time between each letter shortening as they both got used to it. How nice it would be to remember the rest of the language. “What are YOU afraid of?”

“Masks,” Kobra carefully molded his features into a safe, neutral expression. He hated their masks. The white vampires or the blank smiley faces. The masks, white and without expression, hiding a shell of a person, a person who could kill without second thought, a person who had never asked for this. 

He hated those masks. But when he was weaponless, when he was Witchknewwhere with a nearly nameless stranger as his closest ally and there was a brand on his neck, he feared those masks. 

J didn’t seem to understand, but Kobra wasn’t going to explain. He didn’t need to explain. The simple fact was that he was afraid, just like he was angry. 

“We’re going to escape,” J signed, a grim determination finding its way onto his face as he found a lack of expression on Kobra’s . “We’re going to escape. I know it.”

It would be a long night, with tired hands and half-formed plans never spoken, a desperation weaving between letters as the hours passed by. Maybe the most important part of the night wasn’t the plans. Maybe it was the names. Kobra was weaponless, in a foreign place, a brand on his neck, but he had Jet Star.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy two days early be proud of me. Anyway, please yell at me or something.


	4. Like Tiny Daggers Up To Heaven..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison gets a dead-end, a taste of the Lobby, and a taste of he-doesn't-know.
> 
> Kobra Kid was considered a child prodigy for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh don't mind my typos!! i procrastinated and wound up here...

Was Party Poison in the right state of mind to drive, make plans, or handle social interactions? 

The answer to all these questions was probably a ‘no!’ in giant letters and four exclamation points, but Party didn’t particularly care as he revved the Trans Am’s engine, a destination in mind, with Fun Ghoul in the passenger seat.

The time was lost on Party, but the sun was starting to fall toward the West; the Zones may never sleep (in fact, they may well lit up more when the sun went down), Party knew, but it still made his anxiety flare. Luckily, it wasn’t a too-long drive for the first time in the day.

Ghoul didn’t try starting any conversation - didn’t ask where they were going, why they were going, how this was going to help when Pony had already said they and Cherri would take Zone 1.

For that, Party was grateful, the graffitied brick house serving as the Zone 1 entrance warning flying past his vision. Zone 1, outskirts. They were close.

The Trans Am’s brakes were certainly no fans of Party and his negligent care, but they did their job as Party came to a heart-stopping halt. Whiplash was unimportant if Ghoul was the recipient. 

Before him, about twenty feet, stood an old building, wooden doorway rotting away as time crawled on, old with neglect.

Neon paint splashed across the flecking paint made it lively, though, a sense of life and revolution breathed into it by killjoys long ghosted. It was one of Party’s favorite buildings in the Desert, but he didn’t bother dwelling on the memories as he exited the care.

Skate Asylum. The best place in the Zones for roller derby. 

He knew Fallacy from roller derby. He knew that much - and maybe he could find some information on Fallacy here, with people who knew his face and his name and hopefully the same smug, taunting personality Party had come to know. 

Skate Asylum was known for being a hot spot for both killjoys looking for a good time, and Tumbleweeds who want to see who’s the best on their skates. That being said, you’re not a killjoy if you haven’t been there at least once.

Which meant, even if Fallacy had only ever shown his face once, (which could be likely. What did Party know?) someone would know who Party was talking about.

Checking to see if Ghoul was following behind him - he was -, Party slammed the door open. Make an entrance.

Be Party Poison. 

Raking his hands through his greasy hair, he grinned to the masses, the chaotic nature within the building. Everyone was doing something; those who weren’t playing were eating, those who weren’t eating were wandering, those who weren’t wandering were working, those who weren’t working were playing. On-and-on the loop went.

The bar was on the right, so Party fixed his jacket collar and made his way over. It was packed, it was always packed, but Party was a special case to basically anything.

“You lookin’ for the Special?” 

Party fluttered his lashes at the bartender - her name was Star Stealer, been working the bar as long as Party could remember -, having shoved his way to the counter easily, only seconds ago. “Aren’t you the special?”

Star rolled her eyes and smacked the back of his head. “You’ve tried that line before. It always comes before you want something. What do you want this time?”

Dropping the act, Party’s shoulders slouched. He didn’t want to talk about it, his brother; he wanted to find him. Where was that righteous rage? “I’m looking for someone. I swear I know ‘im from here - name’s Fallacy Fame. You know him?”

Star hummed, mixing a drink for someone around Party. She knew his place better than anyone, she had to know something - she was around when it was built, for Destroya’s sake! “Fallacy Fame, eh? Green hair? Short-ish?”

“Little bastard?” Party suggested, but he was starting to get antsy. He loved derby, he really did; the idea of Fallacy being so intricately woven into something Party enjoyed made him nauseous, though. Suddenly the entire place seemed just oh-so sinister.

In a flash, Star snapped her fingers with a triumphant smile and slid the drink across the counter to whoever the customer was. “Yeah! Him, I remember that kiddo. Never knew when to shut his mout - “

“But where is he?”

The frustrated snap didn’t come from Party - it startled Party as much as it startled Star, apparently. It was Ghoul, at Party’s side, looking uncomfortable with the entire situation. Looked like he lived up to his appearance - he looked sort-of feral and like he hadn’t been in the company of actual real-life people for a few years, no?

Star gave a tired shrug, brushing her fluffy pink hair out of her face. It was long, but it suited her. She wasn’t Party’s type, despite the usual flirty greetings,- but she was pretty, and Party knew that was why she knew so much. Another pretty face, one people assumed would never remember another face in a crowd; a pretty face to tell your troubles too. And she served bad alcohol, which made it even better. “Hell if I know. Kid comes in sometimes, but it’s usually when you’re here. Don’t know too much ‘bout ‘im.”

Ghoul huffed, before Party could say anything. “Great. Lovely. Clearly what we wanted to know. What about friends? He got a crew? Anything?”

“Heard he runs with - uh, I don’t think they got a crew name. The Arcaders is what people been takin’ to callin’ ‘em,” Star answered; she looked genuinely upset she couldn’t tell the pair of ‘joys what they wanted to know, but at the same time, Party didn’t believe a word.

Was it his paranoia acting up again, or was she lying? She’d had plenty of practice in a place like this…

“And who is in that crew?” Party made sure to keep his voice in check, temper down. Party Poison, right, who didn’t get irrationally angry at his friends. 

Everything was electrified, Party could say with certainty. His emotions. His surroundings. His nerves. All of it, and it wasn’t a good thing. He wanted to snap at them all; his patience was running low. At least Ghoul had spoken for him, earlier.

Star moved to take an order, scribbling quickly on her pad of notes, looking at them from the corner of her eye. Impatience. She wanted this to be over, too. Why? Was it just Party’s attitude? “I told ya I don’ know much 'bout him. Some of his friends come in sometimes, never play though. Bitter Honey, Purple Precision. Ember somethin’-or-other. Sorry I can’t help you too much, boys.”

Party rolled his eyes. Seemed she knew their names pretty well - which is something totally different than remembering a face. Was she hiding something - and if so, what was it? “Yeah -”

Ghoul cut him off. “Thanks. We’ll swing by if we need anything else.”

Opening his mouth to say something more (what, he didn’t know), Party was whisked away before he had the chance; it was Ghoul, tugging his arm and pulling him out of the crowd around the bar. 

Party tore his arm out of Ghoul’s grip, shoving him back. “Don’t touch me!”

“Sorry, Cherry Bomb,” Ghoul glared; now they were tucked into some forgotten alcove, maybe down some hallway or in a closet or wherever. Party didn’t know. Party didn’t care, his vision narrowed down to Ghoul. “But you were about to explode. Get your head out of your ass and get it together!”

He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest.

Snarling, Party jammed his finger at Ghoul’s chest. “I’ll do whatever I damn please! Don’t fucking touch me and maybe you’ll get to keep those fuckin’ eyes you’re glarin’ with!”

“Empty threat from the great Party Poison?” Ghoul gave a mock laugh, fake offense plastered across his face. Ghoul leaned in, just close enough that Party couldn’t breathe comfortably with Ghoul so close. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like it at all. “I’m oh-so-scared. You’re a wreck - and if you don’t get it together the only thing you’re gonna be finding is a body bag with your brother in it. I saved you from another one of your little meltdowns back there and you don’t even realize it. Let’s go. There’s nothin’ here for you.”

“Don’t touch me,” Party repeated, staring Ghoul down, a whisper. A threat. 

But he said nothing more on the matter, studiously looking anywhere but at Ghoul as he got his bearings and figured out where the exit was. He wasn’t going to ‘have another meltdown’. Not at a bar with so many people.

He was just getting irritated, was all. And it hadn’t shown on his face; he’d mastered that art so long ago. So why the Hell had Ghoul done that?

Whatever. The one thing Ghoul had been right about in his little speech was that there was nothing here for him. Fallacy wasn’t here, and no, he didn’t have the patience to talk to anyone else here. Besides, Star knew the place better than anyone.

The door was still open from when Party had slammed it open earlier - no one bothered to close the door, which was concerning considering all the sand and things that could get in. Party made a point to close it behind him before Ghoul could leave, too. 

Bastard. 

What was he supposed to do now? Sure, yeah, he said he’d take the Outer Zones, but he knew BLI better than anyone. They wouldn’t keep him in the Outer Zones; they knew Kobra, they knew what he was capable of. It would be a mistake.

If he was already in the City, Party was going to start a bloodbath. If he was still in the Zones, Party was still going to start a bloodbath.

First, he had to find him, but how was he supposed to do that? His only leads were a pretentious, nauseating scene kid, a dead-end roller derby station, and a killjoy who didn’t seem to get the message that Party was going to cut off each of his fingers after smashing them with hammers if he touched him again. 

Party was getting into the habit of clenching his fists whenever he was angry or frustrated. It wasn’t a good habit, but right now it was fine, because his knuckles were white but holding onto the steering wheel. When did he get into the Trans Am? When did he start driving? Was Ghoul in passenger?

In fact, Ghoul was sitting in the passenger side, but Party showed nothing about his zoning back in. Where was he driving, anyway? 

Where could he go to find anything on where Kobra might be?

BLI liked to keep things like captured killjoys quiet. Making the public think the ‘terrorists’ were still running rampant added a fear factor they’d get rid of if they went public about capturing someone as highly wanted as Kobra.

Kobra’s reputation might just be keeping him alive, the more Party thought about it (which he was doing his damnedest not to do).

With keeping Kobra’s capture quiet, they couldn’t transport him as easily to the City, right? BLI had specialized vans for bringing in captured ‘joys. They weren’t in the Zones all too often; when they were, ‘joys talked. BLI wouldn’t want that with news making rounds that Kobra was missing.

They knew Party better than that, too. They knew what they were doing.

Party knew they didn’t account for the places Party would go to get his brother back. They sure as Hell didn’t account for Fun Ghoul.

Party may want to break each and every finger the guy had, but he could already tell if Ghoul decided to stick around and help him look - they were going to make a formidable force.

Where was the one place where BLI’s secrets were currency? The one place Party had vowed to himself he would never go to again? The one place where rumors about killjoys were the whispered tales of hope that kept the hopeless alive?

The Lobby.

And that was exactly where Party was driving, he found. The Lobby hadn’t seen his face in over a year, and oh, they would blanch at who he’d become, but Party didn’t care. His history was insignificant compared to the present - the very real possibility that Kobra could be dead for all Party knew.

_

The Trans Am was ditched next to some beat-up garage in Zone 1; Party sacrificed a few precious seconds to turn a blind eye to what was clearly some shady deal between Ghoul and the attendee, which he considered enough pay.

Getting into the City was the tricky part, but getting into the City certainly wouldn’t be as difficult as leaving.

Party wanted to keep this quiet, too. Being in the Lobby. The fewer people who knew about it, the better, but on the other hand, his hair was a bright firetruck red and BLI deserved to know Party wasn’t afraid of them. Wasn’t afraid to get his brother back.

The official Tunnels providing access out-and-into the City were closely guarded by Dracs, heavy security, all that jazz.

But BLI had never caught on to the unofficial Tunnels of Bat City. The Tunnels used frequently by the Tumbleweeds, mere blocks away from those highly guarded Tunnels. Funny how that worked, huh?

“I swear to Destroya, if you interrupt me,” Party started lowly, walking with his hands shoved into his pockets. He didn’t trust the Tunnels, and for good reason. “It’s not gonna be much fun for the janitorial staff here.”

“What is it with you and threatening me recently?” Ghoul snorted, standing by Party’s side yet again. “New hobby or somethin’?” 

“Only way to get the message across,” Party scoffed, crossing his arms. Jacket, check. Mask, check. Gloves, check. Indignant rage, check.

Ghoul rolled his eyes - Party could tell, even though Ghoul had put on some sort-of monster mask (where he got it, Party had no idea and didn’t want to ask. This was the same killjoy who he found in the deep end of a pool surrounded by miscellaneous pieces of scrap metal). “Why do you hate being touched, anyway? And what are we doing here?”

“BLI’s keeping Kobra’s kidnap quiet. The Lobby thrives because they know what BLI keeps quiet.”

Ghoul nodded, humming slightly. “You think the Lobby’s gonna give us a lead?”

“I think it’s the best chance I got so far.” Maybe Ghoul was sticking around, then, Party thought silently. He used ‘us’.   
Unwitting partners in crime, it seemed.

The thought made Party smile as they made their way to the entrance of the Tunnels; a smile was a nice change. The circumstances didn’t allow it for long, though, and he made sure he looked ready for war.

It wasn’t that the Tumbleweeds wouldn’t let them through. It was that it cost a decent fine to go in and out through the Tunnels - the more traffic they got, the more likely they were to get discovered -, and he didn’t have many carbons on him, but he did have a switchblade and little patience.

“You ready?” Party whispered, mainly to himself. Another day he could smile and laugh. He had to get his brother back, first. 

A toll booth sat about twenty feet from one of Battery City’s notorious thirty-feet-tall walls. The walls themselves were solid gray metal, not concrete; not an inch or nail rusted, all perfectly pristine.

The toll booth, on the contrary, looked like it was about to fall apart. It was technically an old phone booth, from what Party knew - the sides were all glass so you could see inside, but there was so much sand in the crevices and dirt stuck to it you could barely see it was translucent at all. 

A piece of the glass was cut out, though. 

“Day access. Two people,” Party said, no shred of emotion in his voice if not demand. He’d been here before; of course, he knew how this worked. 

Party couldn’t see who was inside - above the cut-out box of glass, dirt was stuck onto a black paint, obscuring Party’s view. Whoever it was said flatly, “Thirty-nine carbons each.”

No. Just no.

There was an unusual amount of bartering and trading within the last few hours if you asked Party. Nevertheless, he had about as much time for this as he had time for the parsley. 

“I’m Party fuckin’ Poison,” he all but snarled, “I’m not payin’ thirty-nine carbons to walk through an underground tunnel!”

“And I’m not getting fired for you being all high and mighty!” the ‘joy on the other side mocked, a nasal tone. 

Ghoul was about to step in, Party could see from the tense way he was standing, so Party shot him a glare and turned back to the attendant or whoever. “Do you know who 27 is?”

Silence. And then, “He was a racer. He disappeared. What does he have to do with it?”

“I know what happened to him,” Party said. And it was true. He was looking for ‘27’, anyway. “And I know how to find him. Please. I need to find him.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You know the Kobra Kid?” Party asked next, and waited until he got a quiet confirmation to continue. “They’re one in the same. That’s why their racing styles are so similar - that’s why Kobra Kid’s bike has a 27 on it. Kobra is my little brother. And, well, I want to settle this non-violently.”

Oh, Party was over-explaining the one true Desert conspiracy, had been for months now, but it seemed to do the trick; the attendant was silent for another moment, and then gave Party the verdict - “This is a special case. Day access, free. But if you’re lying - “

“You’ll gut us like a fish, blah blah,” Ghoul finished, cutting off the attendant while Party gave a wicked grin.

Through the small opening, two bracelets were thrown out to Party and Ghoul respectively. Each was a pretty embroidered dark blue, with three orange dots on the right side of the knot. Their tokens, technically.

Mission: success!

Party and Ghoul shared a quiet laugh, putting on their bracelets as they walked toward the metal wall of Battery City, with seemingly nothing else in sight. Party released the hold he had on the switchblade in his pocket.

Once at the wall, Party brought his fingertips to the hot surface, feeling around for anything slightly raised above the other metal plating.

When his fingertips brushed against a panel of metal raised higher than the rest - and gaining a shallow cut in his ring finger, which he hissed at -, he gave himself a confirming nod and standing kicking at the sand.

It seemed pointless, in a Desert, but Party knew what he was doing. Kicking at the sand, sweeping it away, until he could see that same metal under his feet.

Finally. 

Crouching down to wipe away the rest of the sand, Party found that it wasn’t too hot, and pulled up the handle that was flush against Bat City’s precious wall. 

Inside, it looked sort of like a good fall down to your death, but the ladder on the side made the drop 50% less likely to kill you, which helped. Party motioned for Ghoul to go first - Ghoul looked surprised, for some reason, but followed instructions anyway (with only one comment about how he was descending into the fifth circle of the Witch’s dreams, which Party elected to ignore).

Party followed after, carefully shutting it behind him. The attendant he’d spoken to would move the sand back into place.

They descended for a while - a leg and arm workout; why the Lobby wasn’t level with the Zones, Party didn’t know, but he thought that Battery City, in fact, was sunken ever-so-slightly. It made the walls way more imposing on this side, and made an escape so much more difficult. 

Hopping off the ladder after Ghoul, Party made a note of his surroundings. He hadn’t been here in a while, but it hadn’t changed. The same hastily made metal walls, the sagging ceilings that were a real safety hazard, the same horrid dim lighting that made sense of direction an impossible feat.

Home sweet home, one might say.

“Who are we going to be asking? What are we going to ask?” Ghoul asked, his voice echoing off the walls, despite it being hushed.

Party gave a stiff shrug. He didn’t like being here - it instantly made him tense, prepare for the worst, but he had to anyway. “Not sure. We can start with the attendant on the other side’a the Tunnels. They might know something.”

“You’re...winging it?” Ghoul said, sounding shocked, for some reason. 

Just because Party had a severe lack of impulse control when his brain is stuck between fight-or-flight and bring-the-world-to-its-knees did not mean he knew what he was doing, in the slightest. This was all on a whim.

“Of course I am,” Party hummed. “What did you expect? That I was going to whip out someone’s business card and have a color-coded binder of all their mistakes?”

Ghoul shrugged. “I dunno. I just - assumed you knew what you were doing.”

“Well. I don’t. Get used to it.”

It was true enough, and they spent the remaining time making off-hand comments about their surroundings and absolutely dumb small talk. The only thing of interest Party learned was that Ghoul was a bombmaker, and a re-owned one at that, who had no idea why he hadn’t ditched Party yet.

_

“Ghoulie!”

The ‘small light at the end of the tunnel slowly getting bigger and bigger as they neared the end of the Tunnels’ thing was dumb, in Party’s opinion. Whereas the lighting in the Tunnels was so bad Party could barely see his own hair at some point, the lighting in the Cavern (the warehouse-esque area it opened up into) was bright fluorescent lighting glaring down at you and every sin you’ve committed since birth.

And, of course, another dumb thing was Ghoul being instantly tackled by a blur of purple the moment they came into view. 

Ghoul didn’t even get through the entire “What the -” before he was being smothered in a hug, which Party found hilarious.

Ghoul. Being hugged. On the floor. By someone he didn’t recognize, it seemed.

Shaking in his silent laughter, Party made no move to intervene, but eventually, the purple figure moved off of Ghoul and offered a hand up.

They were about as tall as Ghoul (so short, naturally), with...well, a lot of purple. A ratty purple lab coat, a purple fedora that somehow hadn’t flown off, purple-stained gray sweatpants, glasses with the lenses covered in purple marker, and purple streaks sticking out from underneath the fedora and covered strawberry blond hair. 

The shit-eating grin on they’re face was just another of the already-accumulating signs that whoever this was, was not on the side of sanity. 

“Party Poison!” the stranger in purple said, a cheery tone. Party sort-of wanted to smack him already. “Never thought you’d be runnin’ with Ghoulie here. What brings you?”

A confused glance prompted Ghoul to give Party an explanation, and a groan. “This...is Dr. Benzedrine. He’s uh...he’s himself, that’s all I can say. We worked together on a project once.”

“Oh, worked together, huh?” Dr. Benzedrine rolled his eyes dramatically, wiping non-existent dust off his lab coat. “If I do recall correctly, we buil -”

“You can shut up now, Benze,” Ghoul said with a strained smile. “We’re here on business. Like you asked. We were wondering about a few things.”

“Wonder, wonder, wonder,” Benze tsked. “None of you use the word right. When you come falling down the rabbit hole, then you’re wondering, but for now, you have inquiries. What do you seek in your little Wonderland?”

Oh, great. A Juvee Hall who spoke nonsense and looked like an oddly cute cartoon villain. And what did wonder have to do with a rabbit hole? And what was a Wonderland? 

Party spoke up before Ghoul. “BLI has been keepin’ a killjoy capture on the down-low. And - I need to get him back. The Lobby takes an interest in all things kept under wraps.”

“Gonna have to be a little more specific, sugar, who are you talking about?” Benze hummed, pushing his glasses up. Who even wore glasses? Didn’t you just get eye surgery? “We have plenty of stories in the well for you to choose from, but you have’ta specify or you might learn some things you shouldn’t.”

The wink at the end really threw together the entire look, Party would give him props for that, but this Benze guy was starting to make Party’s skin crawl. 

“The Kobra Kid. My brother. He’s missing,” Party grit out, forcing a smile to combat the cheery one on Benze’s face. None of them had moved, still standing by the entrance to the Tunnels and the Cavern.

Now that Party thought about it, Benze smelled vaguely of chemicals and something acidic at that. The sentiment didn’t sit well in his stomach. 

“Oh, 27? I do so miss him. Pain and a pleasure to have around, you know?” Benze trailed off ever-so-slightly - Party thought he was done talking entirely and was going to say something in response before Benze gave him a wicked grin and turned on his heel. “Follow me!”

Party listened without argument. He did, though, turn to whisper in Ghoul’s ear as they walked, the unsettling feeling in his stomach not leaving. “Where is he taking us?”

“I don’t know,” Ghoul whispered back. “It’s best to just follow him. He looks all cute and innocent, but he’s a genius and a petty one at that.”

“I’m not petty,” Benze huffed loudly, not turning back to look at the pair following him as they made their way through graffitied alleys and monotone streets and even up and down a few staircases. “I do, however, keep track of things. Patterns, silly. You have a worrying habit of talking behind my back, no?”

“Er - “

“Trick question. You know the answer. Keep your thoughts of me to yourself,” Benze said, lacking any negativity in his voice. Just an infernal cheeriness Party was certain was being faked. 

After that, it was relatively silent. Ghoul made polite small talk, but Benze babbled about whatever came to mind, it seemed, his own loop of nonsense Party couldn’t understand. Party, though, stayed silent. He didn’t like Benzedrine. And they’d been walking for at least twenty minutes now, where could they be going?  
His question was answered minutes later when Benze finally stopped, spreading his arms wide as in, look, see, it’s amazing, right?

It was not, to put it lightly. Where they’d stopped was in front of an old building. Except it looked like one of those old buildings in Bat City that was salvaged from a neighborhood from before the Wars - rotting wood, falling apart...everything, and all.

BLI liked to preserve those buildings, officially, ‘as a reminder of what must never happen again’. Unofficially it was because they liked to remind citizens that an age like the Helium Wars could come again if they didn’t comply like the little pill poppers they were supposed to be.

This one seemed to make time stand still, make Party freeze, but he shook it off. “What’s this place supposed to be?”

“The Lobby’s version of a Confessional,” Benze said, still not looking back. “And it’s your turn to confess, Saint.”

Something about the nickname irked on Party’s nerves, but he couldn’t figure out why. It was just another nickname, one to add to the tons he’d already been given by near-strangers. 

“And how is this helping me find out anything about my brother?” Party snapped, crossing his arms, refusing to walk forward even as Ghoul stood impatiently next to him.

“The House and its patrons know everything there is to know about the rumors surrounding you ‘joys. Go on. Maybe you’ll even learn something useful.”

Benzedrine was unnerving in the oddest of ways. Party didn’t like it in the slightest, but he made his way to the front of the house, stopping at the front door.

He let Ghoul go first, this time. 

Despite Benze’s babble, there were no demons that immediately jumped out to murder Party, which was a step up from some of the places he’d been. In fact, it was less like a haunted house and more like a hotel from what Party could see.

Ghoul led them over to the kitchen, for some inexplicable reason, and for that same inexplicable reason, Party followed. The kitchen was stocked full of food upon food upon food in each open cabinet, with tarnished wallpaper and bad linoleum floors. 

Then Party realized Ghoul wasn’t leading them here for no reason - on the floor, in front of the kitchen island, sat a person, with their eyes closed and legs crossed. Meditation, it appeared.

“Hey, person?” Ghoul asked, ever the unsubtle one. The light kick to the thigh also probably wasn’t the best idea, but did Ghoul ever care? “You’re supposed to tell us stuff?”

The person snapped their eyes open. Party immediately felt unnerved- their eyes were ice blue. And staring straight at Party. “You seek knowledge?”

“What else would we be seeking?” Ghoul answered for him. Party couldn’t talk. He didn’t like this, no, no, he wanted to leave, he didn’t like this person and he didn’t like this House and this wasn’t going to go anywhere good.

The person snapped, like, a physical snap that hit Party off guard. “Maybe a few brain cells underneath that dirt on your skin. You came seeking secrets. What secrets do you want to know? I don’t have time to deal with the mockery from your Desert ilk.”

Party verbally snapped back. “I don’t have the time to deal with your over-talking. I want to know if you know anything about BLI keeping captured ‘joys. Have any been transferred in recently? Do they keep them in the Desert? And who in Destroya are you?”

The person smiled at Party - Party was getting real sick and tired of smiles and grins and talks of Wonderland and Desert ilk. “The Tarot Witch. You’ll meet me again when you need me, Party Poison. Your questions, though - there have been rumors about killjoys taken in from the Zones. Not recently, however, but they say Better Living Industries has been bringing you killjoys in, alive. They haven’t resurfaced as civilians yet - and they haven’t been down in the Tower, our sources say. This isn’t the answer you’re seeking, is it?”

“What do you think?” Party said, stock-still and stone cold. 

“I already know the answer. The rumors will take you back to your wasteland, you know. You’re notorious for finding your brother before finding out the conspiracy.” Tarot Witch closed their eyes again. A dismissal. 

Except, of course, none of what the Tarot Witch was saying made any sense. Not to Party.

Not now, at least. 

_

“Are you ready?”

“What do you think?” Kobra whispered, the noise seeming too loud in his ears. 

He and Jet were sitting crisscrossed next to each other in their little cell, staring out the glass wall. 

Jet gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I know. You have to face them, though. You’ve got this, don’t you?”

Part of Kobra wanted to scream no, wanted to be paralyzed in fear. The rest of Kobra knew he couldn’t afford that if he was going to walk out of this damn facility alive and with his own free will, and he was going to do this regardless of whether he was going to be shaking for the rest of his life.

This time, when the Draculoids came, they had a plan.

The door slid open, the only sound behind the quiet breathing of the two prisoners and the silent breathing of the masked murderers. There were only seven, with a Scarecrow Agent waiting in the back. The Drac who opened the door was holding a syringe.

Why was this so different from last time?

Nevertheless, Jet gave Kobra’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

And Kobra stood up, calmly, made eye contact with the emotionless Draculoid - for a moment, everything was still. 

And then Kobra punched him straight across the face.

Instantly more Dracs and the Crow were storming in, to detain him, to drug him; the thought made Kobra’s breathing heavier, his body rejecting the panic, but he yanked the ray gun out of the Drac’s holster while it was disorientated.   
He spun on his heel and tossed it to Jet. 

The white masks surrounding him, he almost let that panic take over.

And then he remembered being a scared little twelve-year-old. A fighter and a prodigy. 

A few Dracs didn’t matter; they were swarming him, not allowing him to kick too high, but Jet was picking them off at random, allowing Kobra the space he needed to start throwing his elbows, kicking his knees up.

It gave him a little circle around himself, more Dracs pouring in, his adrenaline pumping, his fear replaced by muscle memory, his now-bloodied knuckles hitting ribs, faces, arms; kicking out to keep them away from him. He was offense, not defense, he was in control of this situation.

He was the Kobra Kid, and he knew how to fight. 

The Dracs kept pouring in - Kobra couldn’t look over to see how Jet was faring, but it wasn’t all too well he already knew. 

It was when the Crow agent came within Kobra’s little bubble that he raised his hand. Stopped moving entirely.

In that time, Jet threw back the ray gun. Before the Crow could get a hit in or figure out what Kobra was doing, Kobra was holding a ray gun to the Crow’s head, looking him dead in the eye as he used his free hand to switch the setting from stun to kill. 

Everything stopped, the Crow raising his own hand in a sign of waving off the Dracs. They stood frozen, and Kobra couldn’t help but smirk slightly. What was to be afraid of now, with that blank black smiley face mask at the will of his trigger finger.

Like it mattered if he killed one more expendable Crow agent. But this wasn’t about murder, this wasn’t about getting more blood on his hands. 

“You underestimated me,” Kobra said simply, instead of all the thoughts flowing through his head.

The Crow laughed from underneath that hideous mask. At least it wasn’t a blank vampiric star as the vampire Drac masks. Just a smiley face. “What are you going to do? Kill me, with hundreds of soldiers ready to kill you at a moments notice?”

“No,” Kobra said evenly, his blond hair falling into his face. He made no move to brush it out of his vision. “No killing. Why did you brand me? What are planning to do with me?”

“That’s above my classification,” The Crow answered stiffly, tune changing entirely. 

Above his classification, huh? What were they planning?

What part did Kobra play in it?

Carefully, he switched the setting back to stun. “I’ll accept that. You aren’t drugging me again. I’m not doing another one of your lab tests. You hear that? I know they’re watching. I’m not.”

Silence from the Crow. Kobra couldn’t tell why until the Crow tilted its head slightly. Earpiece.

Ugh, Kobra remembered having to wear those. No wonder the Crow’s tune had changed so quickly - they delivered a swift shock when they said something the Production Crew on the other end didn’t like. 

“..Fine,” the Crow said slowly. “Fine. Today. You’re walking a fine line, Kobra Kid. We are stronger than you. Do not underestimate us, either.”

“I’ll pay my due to the Witch later,” Kobra all but snarled. Slowly, he lowered the gun, as the Dracs started filing out of the room in a line, just as mechanical as the Crow’s slow, monotone words.

“We’ll see, Kobra Kid.” The way the Crow enunciated Kobra’s name made him flinch - he knew the Crow noticed -, but he held his ground.

When the Crow left, he didn’t take the gun Kobra had stolen. It was a mistake on their part.

It was only this time he wasn’t out for blood.

Jet tried to high-five him, but Kobra could already see the bruises forming on Jet’s arms and he bet there were more on Kobra’s own arms and legs underneath his jacket and jeans. This wasn’t a victory. This was biding time, and now BLI knew what he was doing - they weren’t stupid. 

Their time was limited. The Crow letting him keep the gun was bait. Kobra getting out of this without any more laboratory trips was bait. The Dracs not injuring him nearly as much as they should’ve with the ratio of Kobra-to-Dracs was bait. The Crow telling him there were ‘hundreds’ of Dracs in a facility that gave their prisoners a glass enclosure was bait.

They were playing him, but Kobra wasn’t a pawn, and Kobra knew how to play better. They taught him that much, and he was going to use it. 

Pushing past Jet, he sat back down, criss-cross once again, sent a prayer out to the Phoenix Witch, and started planning. Piece by piece, it would come together. 

He was on the most wanted list for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! chapter 4 is up! what you think?


	5. And It's Burning Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison discovers something he shouldn't have - his solution is the most destructive, and he isn't willing to change.
> 
> Kobra Kid knows exactly what he's doing. That doesn't mean Better Living Industries can't find a way to outsmart him anyway.

Loathe as Party was to admit it, the Tarot Witch was right - his inquiries, as Benze would say, brought him back to the Desert in a day’s time. It’d been three days since he’d come back.

Three days of sleepless nights, ceaseless worrying, unbridled rage, and, of course, banter with his newfound companion. 

The adjustment to travel with Ghoul wasn’t all too difficult, even if it kept slipping Party’s mind that Ghoul was with him. Ghoul proved helpful, namely in the types of places Party had never been, and the places where the whispers about him weren’t about venom and weren’t about anything Party was proud of. 

Three days was a long time to be cycling through those dark corners, relentlessly combing through every grain of sand in the Desert, with only dead-ends. Kobra’s chances of still being alive were growing dimmer and dimmer, even if Party wouldn’t even consciously admit the thought.

Party was tired of false leads and hopeless searches. There was only one angle he’d yet to explore - and that was basically suicide-by-Better Living Industries. 

He kept going to popular Zone hotspots, always asking for secrets or rumors, like he’d done when he went to the Lobby with Ghoul and met a purple-colored doctor. 

What about the Dracs? The Dracs and the Crows, they were always out here patrolling the Desert - and it took a day’s worth of driving to go from Battery City to the Zone’s at the pace BLI operatives had to go at. 

They had to have outposts in the Zones. Party had thought about it before, but had little faith Kobra wasn’t shoved anywhere but some BLI facility on the outskirts of Battery City, maybe even in the dreaded Tower. He hadn’t stopped to really think about the facilities themselves being out in the Zones.

Those same BLI operatives that couldn’t patrol with a day’s worth of driving to check-in had to their base, right? That was almost near suicide, but a grin spread on Party’s face. He could just follow BLI’s pets back to their base.

If he found those outposts…

The grin faded and Party sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was the middle of the night, and he was sitting on the hood of the Trans Am. The only thing keeping him from freezing was the insulation of his jacket - the same jacket part of him wanted to throw off for that reason exactly -, and the low thrum of frustration causing him to keep throwing his arms out.

Not much was around here, in Zone 4 as it was, but that made it so much easier to shout. No one would ever have to hear - he could yell and scream about the injustices of having his brother taken.

“You doing okay out there, Cherry Bomb?”

No one would hear, of course, except Ghoul. So no shouting to the night sky.

Party looked behind him, to Ghoul, who was leaning out of the Trans Am’s back window. It was easiest to crash in the car rather than finding somewhere to stay when Party’s patience with other joy’s was worn so thin he might snap if one more person smiled at him. “What’s it to you?”

“You have the keys and I have a thing against stealing things off dead bodies.”

“Fair enough,” Party snorted, shaking his head in quiet laughter. “Trying to figure out where we go from here.”

Ghoul hummed. It was a nice sound in the near-silent Desert. “You already have an idea, don’t you? I know that tone.”

“Do you now?” Party scoffed, though more in amusement than anything. He threw all the thoughts of wailing to the Witch out of his head indefinitely. It was hard to remember Ghoul was there, sometimes. Or maybe Party wasn’t doing as well with staying out of his head as he’d like to think. Ghoul was right, though.

With a shrug, Party explained, running his hands through his hair. It needed a wash. “Only lead we have is to follow - to follow the Dracs. Otherwise - I don’t -”

“We’ll find him,” Ghoul interrupted, when Party’s voice broke.

“Yeah, and get ourselves ghosted in the process,” said Party, a bitter undertone. He couldn’t save his brother if he got sent to the Witch or whoever came to collect your soul if he died in, quite possibly, the dumbest way imaginable. There weren’t any other options, though.

Ghoul was silent, staring at Party but seeming lost in his own thoughts. Party waited for him to come back. “Destroya only knows you can’t really die. We’ll find him, and if we have to follow some Crows, then let’s. You need to get some sleep, first.”

“I’ve got to plan.”

“For what? A firefight?” Ghoul scoffed, mirroring Party from earlier. “Look. You’re drained. Too many mood swings today, you’ve gotta get some sleep before you wreak havoc.”

He was tired. It was exhausting, going from place to place and hope to fear to anger and back again. Tired, but not tired enough to go to sleep just yet. He had to work out some details, maybe make some radio calls, maybe wander off into the darkness and hope he was far enough away from Ghoul to where he really truly would be alone.

Party shook his head. “Nah. I don’t know. But I can’t go to sleep just yet.”

Hearing Ghoul curse under his breath, Party curiously watched Ghoul climbed out the window of the car. Climbed out the window. Party may have had the keys but Ghoul could’ve unlocked the door all by himself. 

When he was finished with his endeavor, Ghoul cleared his throat, rolling his eyes at Party. He was sitting on the roof of the car, one leg crossed and one leg hanging over the side. Nothing new, then. “Yes, you can, and yes, you will. I’m not dying because you passed out of exhaustion in the middle of a clap or chasing someone down on Route Guano.”

“I’m not -”

“Heard that argument before,” Ghoul said blankly, “It was from you, two hours ago. C’mon. We can’t do anything when it gets hot in a few hours but drive anyways. Just come take a nap or something, you stubborn prick.”

Party kept eye contact for a solid six seconds before blinking and breaking away. 

With the unspoken bet lost, Party flipped Ghoul off, mumbling about how unnecessary this was as he clambered off the hood (ungracefully, if Ghoul’s snickering and the accidental face-full of sand Party got), into the front seat (by unlocking the door. Maybe he’d have to teach Ghoul how to do that some time, no?). 

The backseat had all the blankets. Ghoul was a little blanket thief. Party tucked his knees onto the seat, scowling before trying to reach over to take some back. 

He didn’t succeed in much but almost falling over, refusing to acknowledge Ghoul laughing quietly at him - at some point in the last minute or so, Ghoul had slid off the roof and was in the process of climbing back in through the window.

“You don’t have to sleep in the front seat, y’know,” said Ghoul, laughing slightly at Party’s misfortune. “All uncomfortable like that. The backset is much better. Or even the passenger seat. Dude, that looks like the worst way to sleep since I saw someone sleeping on a metal roof with an acid rain storm comin’ in.”

“It’s fine,” Party rolled his eyes, miffed. It was fine, technically - but Ghoul was right in that it was the most uncomfortable thing he could think of, no matter what position he tried to sleep in. Maybe that was half of why he hadn’t slept in the last three days. “...But if I did sleep in the passenger seat, would you steal my blankets?”

“What? I would never do such a thing!” Ghoul denied, burying himself in his little cocoon of stolen blankets.

“Lies!” Party called out dramatically, throwing an arm out with a laugh. Wow, he hadn’t laughed in a while. It felt nice. “I don’t even have any blankets up here ‘cos you stole ‘em!”

“Then steal them back!” Ghoul taunted, sticking his face out from under the blankets only to stick his tongue out at Party.

Party took the challenge, turning around and crouching in his seat so he could try to take at least one blanket - the ratty old gray one, the one on top, the one that any other day Party would’ve had a fit over -, but one thing he hadn’t accounted for was that Ghoul was serious and had an iron grip on all the blankets in his possession.

“Hey!” Party laughed, his nose scrunching up as he tugged at the corner; he almost had it, he almost had it he just had to lean over a bit more to get more leverage - 

And, of course, he fell made first into the cocoon of blankets, his stomach hitting the console and his arm awkwardly twisted under his body. 

Ghoul was laughing up a storm, even as Party dazedly pulled himself up, trying to get his hair out of his hands. “Goes to show how much strength you have, Cherry Bomb!”

Party balanced his weight on one arm (that was holding up his entire upper body.This was weird), just to flick Ghoul on the forehead, mumbling something along the lines of “Shut up, Bomb Boy!”, still smiling. 

Then the laughter faded out, and they sat in awkward silence for a few seconds, then made eye contact and burst out into laughter once again. 

Ghoul had legitimate tears in his eyes, and he managed to wrestle an arm out of the blanket fort (which was an accomplishment, Party was pinning down half of it) to wipe them away. “Seriously - seriously though, I will steal the blankets. If you want to keep any of these and make sure neither of us freeze to death you’re gonna have to come back here.”

“Like there’s enough room,” Party snorted. He was - he was happy, he was beginning to realize. Of all the emotions he’d felt in the last few days, happy was not one of them, and he’d begun to forget what it was supposed to feel like. It was supposed to feel like blanket wars in the middle of the night and bad nicknames. 

“There absolutely is not,” Ghoul agreed, mocking a fake sage in the tone he said it in and did his best to struggle to prop himself up on his elbows. Party had to quickly readjust and sit up on the console awkwardly bringing his legs to rest in the backseat. “But there is a floor. And these are big blankets.”

“It’s my car! If I’m sleeping back there I’ll be the one on the seat,” Party scoffed, throwing his arm up in lazy indignation. 

Ghoul pretended to look as if he was contemplating it, then looked Party dead in the eyes and said ‘ “Hm. Yeah. No.”

“You are impossible,” said Party, resisting yet another eye roll. It wasn’t even out of frustration or anything, which was new to Party. 

“Yeah, I am,” Ghoul agreed. So you taking the offer or not?”

“...Whatever. I want the gray blanket,” Party muttered begrudgingly, sliding off the console and onto the dirty floor of the backseat. It wasn’t too comfortable, but he could actually lay down, and there wasn’t a steering wheel in the way, so he considered it a vast improvement.

Maybe just as begrudgingly, Ghoul allowed him to take the gray blanket, and in a somewhat-awkward fashion spread the large comforter-type blanket over them both.

It was still cold - of course it was - but when Party closed his eyes in what he assumed was another fruitless attempt to fall asleep?

He slept. He actually, genuinely fell asleep, even with all the different swirling trains of thought in his head. He thought maybe Ghoul had something to do with, getting him to laugh for the first time in days.

~

When Party woke up, groggy, tangled and with his back in an uncomfortable position, he found (surprisingly) most of the blankets had fallen on him during the night, and Ghoul was close to falling off.

Ghoul was also holding his hand. 

Party slipped his hand out of Ghoul’s, squinting at the daylight sunshine shining through the windows. They were both adjusted to the Zones sleeping schedule - sleeping through the coldest parts of the night, and the hottest parts of the day -, so they’d slept through when the car was the hottest (a dangerous idea. It must be getting close to winter if they weren’t being cooked alive), which explained why most of the blankets had been dumped on him. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, awkwardly maneuvering back into the front seat. They were looking for a Drac patrol to follow. 

It didn’t matter that Party’s middle-of-the-night delirium talks weren’t plans. He’d been going off his intuition from the start, and hopefully, hopefully, this time it might actually have a good turn out.

Finding a Drac patrol couldn’t be too difficult, right? They were crawling around the Zones. Usually in the Inner Zones, away from the larger masses of killjoys, but still, there had to be some, somewhere.

~

They were not easy to find.

Party huffed to himself, glaring at the empty Desert, with Ghoul still passed out in the backseat, somehow. He’d been driving around in circles, at this point, and the Dracs that always appeared at the most inconvenient and potentially disastrous times were nowhere to be found.

If he didn’t find a patrol or even a lone Crow, Party was going to shoot the closest living organism, and that was either him or Ghoul, who, apparently, snored. Maybe he should’ve realized that a few days ago, but he was dumb and distracted.

It was difficult to stay calm and even-tempered when everything was so...so idle, he supposed. He wasn’t used to an idle Desert, one where the only heartbreak had happened days ago and was now taunting Party with its silence. 

He was almost glad when he caught a flash of white on the edges of the horizon. The engine had been killed about an hour ago, so he didn’t have to worry about that - what he had to worry about was the firetruck red hair that was noticeable from a mile away and the vibrant blue jacket that marked him as Party Poison.

The jacket was easily enough shrugged off, but Party did have to slouch down and pray that he wouldn’t be seen.

He couldn’t follow the patrol if he was the one being pursued - and beyond that, he needed to see if it was actually a patrol, and not either a figment of his imagination or another group of killjoys having their fun. 

Party couldn’t see that far away, not really, but now he was certain it was white he was seeing - oddly distinct against the yellow backdrop of the sand and the blue covering of the sky. It was a van rather than a regular patrol car. Stopping for gas at the gas station right down there (that would never willingly serve BLI operatives, but a dead killjoy can’t exactly protest, now can they?)

Why was there a van in the middle of Zone 4 in the middle of the day?

Vans were mainly for captured ‘joys, Party remembered, and his heart started beating quicker, begging to be let out of the confines of his rib cage. Captured ‘joys...or research.

Either way, it was a win for Party.

But everything in his system was in agreement - he was hoping to the Witch that just maybe, just maybe, there was a captured killjoy in that van, one with dirty blond hair and a bright red jacket. His brother, alive and well, not a corpse or not some stupid research reports on ‘life in the Zones’. 

Please, be Kobra.

He kept a sharp eye out for any unusual activity, but it seemed to be a basic gas station stop. Routine. 

And do you know what routine meant? They were going somewhere. And if there were going somewhere - be it their base or not -, eventually they would have to go back to their facility or outpost.

His heart lurched as he twisted the key, turning on the engine. The Trans Am came to life with a quiet hum; he was too far away for such a quiet sound to alert the patrol unit. Thankfully. 

Ghoul was still passed out, but Party didn’t dwell on it - the patrol unit was the only thing on his mind. He let the vehicle get out of sight for only a second before driving slowly until they were in sight again. 

He kept doing this, every few minutes; the directions the patrol went in seemed random, and the paranoid part of Party said they knew they were being tailed and trying to get him lost, but the logical side of him knew that the Trans Am wasn’t painted in the harsh neon it used to be. It was quite hard to spot (all Kobra’s doing. If Party had kept his way, then the entire thing would be covered in bright red and maybe some neon green, things like that.).

~

It was nightfall by the time the patrol unit seemed to show any sign of going back, anywhere, really. To turn around.

The sun had set about an hour ago, and Party had forsaken his headlights in favor of stealth - he was relying mostly on his skills as a driver, and certainly not any of Ghoul’s passenger-side driving. He was a chronic backseat driver, it seemed. 

“Ghoul! Ghoul!” Party whispered excitedly, shaking his shoulder. There wasn’t a reason why, at least a reason he could easily fathom, why he did, except just to get his point across. The sensation of Party’s fingertips on the abrasive fabric of Ghoul’s vest was well aware in his mind, but it was drowned out by the excitement he was feeling. “The van, look! It’s turning around!”

“I can see it’s turning around,” Ghoul snapped, crossing his arms - Party instantly retracted his arm, entire body angling away from Ghoul. “And do you know what’s ‘around’? Us!”

Party took two blinks to comprehend the words spilling out of Ghoul’s mouth, and when he did, he was mumbling curse after curse under his breath, trying to make sure they’d be out of sight when the patrol unit drove by. Or maybe visible, but nothing to pay attention to. 

On a whim, Party wasted no time fumbling to get the key out, to let the low energy and hum of the engine die, motioning Ghoul to get done, get done!

Party himself by crouching uncomfortably in the space between the pedals and the driver's seat - what it was called, he forgot the name of (but he’d spent plenty of time here), but he kept a finger to his lip in some unknown effort to make sure Ghoul was quiet too.

Light flooded in through the windshield - almost immediately after, the sound of the engine followed as if Party was just now becoming aware of it -; Party held his breath, panic growing with every second that ticked, ticked away in his head.

The light passed. Nothing happened.

Party released a large breath, thanks to the Witch falling again and again. They weren’t caught. 

That being said, Party didn’t give Ghoul the chance to recognize it was over before Party was situated in the driver's seat again, the engine going back on, the Trans Am faithfully fulfilling Party’s constant abuse of it. 

Follow the patrol vehicle, right. Right. It may have Kobra in it. To Hell if he got caught, maybe if he had he would’ve seen if that van had his brother...Then again, he wouldn’t have had an escape route and would’ve had his gun confiscated.

This was why he shouldn’t be allowed to make impulsive decisions, but Ghoul clearly wasn’t going to stop him.  
Party checked the clock by the radio - it was around ten at night, but the clock wasn’t too accurate and Party was too preoccupied to do the math. These were probably good things to know about patrols. Where and when they came and went.

Time crawling to a halt was not welcomed, so of course, that’s what it felt like. They maybe made it halfway across the Zone they were in before the van showed any sign of stopping - and when it did, there was nothing around. Nothing on the horizon besides the hurricane of Party’s emotions catching up with him and sand, sand, and more sand. 

“Where are they going?” Party huffed, talking to himself. 

Like it set something into motion, the van came to a complete halt. Party subconsciously held his breath, as he’d gotten into the habit of apparently. 

Two Dracs came out of the front of the van - Party was waiting to see what - or who - was being held in the back of the van.

They opened the doors.

No one was in there. 

Instead, Party couldn’t see too well from so far away, but whatever was in the back of that van wasn’t a person. It was probably research files, then. Research files.

A tear slipped out, and Party hurriedly wiped it away - it had made its mark, cutting clean through the grime on his face. Maybe if he wasn’t so exhausted and devastated, even if he knew it was a long shot that Kobra was in that particular van at that particular time (nothing could ever be convenient in his life, now could it?), he would’ve tried to find some symbolism in it, be it about Destroya or the Witch or simply his own horrible luck.

But he didn’t, keeping his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his emotions in check. There was no time for crying, was there? 

Party kept looking, scanning every foot the Dracs stepped. They were grabbing bins out of the back, but where were they bringing them? The one question Party had been wanting an answer to all day, the question most ‘joys only had in passing and those who didn’t usually got ghosted before they found out.

Maybe he didn’t have such horrid luck after all.

He hadn’t been discovered earlier. And, oh, he laughed to himself - he should’ve known. Everyone should’ve known.

The Dracs had just kicked a foot or so of sand away from a specific square of Desert. The only reason it could possibly be memorable was the cracked concrete foundation feet away from it - but it was just rubble and ruins, that was the norm in the Zones. That was why Party had said there was nothing stretching around for miles.

Then again, is that not what BLI thought about the Tunnels? That there was nothing around their highly guarded Tunnels and metal walls for miles?

It was the same concept as the Lobby. Hidden doors for hidden objects and people better left in the dark. 

Only the first Drac went down into the entrance or door or whatever; the other handed it the bins. After that seemed done, the Drac took an excruciating amount of time going back to the van.

What surprised Party, even in his shocked and nihilistic quiet laughter, was when the Drac got into the driver’s side and started the engine. 

And left.

~

Party and Ghoul waited in silence for the count of one-hundred-forty-two Mississippi before Party deemed it safe to come out. And even if it wasn’t safe, he’d just had one-hundred-forty-two Mississippi to play out every scenario in his head and make himself paranoid enough to pull out his ray gun at the sound of a scuttling rat. 

(Which would make it a bit difficult to work with Ghoul, but Ghoul had already shown he had no plans on letting Party go solo nor simply go away.)

He and Ghoul made eye contact over the roof of the Trans Am as they got out, each taking a deep breath. Party adjusted his jacket collar, ran his hands through his hair and adjusted the domino mask on his face.

Ghoul had put on his Frankenstein mask, and, with a simultaneous nod, they began walking toward the concrete foundations they’d seen the Dracs near earlier.

The second Drac had done well covering it back up. If Party hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed there was anything there even if the Witch herself told him so. 

Nevertheless, he didn’t let himself get stuck in his head again when the time was of the essence, frantically digging the sand out of the vague area he thought the door was.

The first few minutes, he found nothing and was seriously considering just shooting the sand and making some crystals. Even Ghoul began crouching him and helping. 

Party wasted no time when he did find the door - he felt partially relieved. There was no electronic key card or anything he needed to get in. Figures, he supposed; sand would get into a keyhole and the sun had a tendency to kill any high functioning tech that was left out for too long. 

Ghoul held the top of the odd door up; it was metal. A sleek metal, too, hadn’t even rusted yet.

“Follow after me,” Party said, whispering, though there was no need to. 

Ghoul nodded anyway; Party took the silent okay and found there wasn’t too much of a drop. In fact, he didn’t even need to use to ladder on the side, he could just jump down. Part of him wished more secret facilities could just have stairs and a messed-up door, like Dr. D’s station. 

There was at least one Drac down here with him. 

Wherever the Drac was, and if any of its friends were here, they weren’t in the long, stretching and blindingly white hallway Party found himself in. Next to him, about eye level on the while tile wall was a keycard reader. It was flashing green, and all the fluorescent lights were on.

It was oddly well-conditioned. The sudden cold gave Party goosebumps, but he had a feeling the temperature wasn’t the only reason for those.

Ghoul dropping down next to him made him jump.

Shaking it off, Party gestured Ghoul to watch his back, they were going to walk forward now - and with that, should they come upon rooms they needed to search, Ghoul took the left, Party took the right.

The doors were deeply set into the walls, making them impossible to see when you first entered. Was it intentional? Party thought so...but the real concern to him was that all the electronic locks on the outside of the doors were flashing green. 

Unlocked.

Convenient, but convenient always meant something was wrong, didn’t it?

Party was in the middle of scanning around an empty white room, the second door on the right, actually, when he heard the first sense of commotion.

Not having Ghoul at his back made him paranoid enough as it was, in a haunted, bright white room like this, but he found himself frozen when he heard a distinct “You’re not supposed to be here,” coming from the hallway. It certainly wasn’t Ghoul’s voice. 

“And you’re not supposed to keep your gun on kill, are you?” Party heard, and that was most definitely Ghoul’s voice. It was calm, not a trace of panic or fear.

For some reason, it was even more unsettling than the near-robotic voice of whoever had spoken earlier. Party tore himself from his frozen state in the middle of the room and crept toward the door, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as he could, to peer out the door without notice.

There was a Crow, with its back to Party and a gun to Ghoul’s temple. 

Party hissed - leave it to Ghoul to get caught first, right?

The Crow cocked its head to the side - for whatever reason -, Party thought it was about to say something but it never got out any words before Party’s ray gun had already gone off, the shot barely aimed but hitting its mark anyway.

It was set to stun - a ray gun blast from that close proximity would cause a ridiculous amount of damage no matter what the setting was.

Party blinked at the slumped body of the Crow, then back to Ghoul. “You’re welcome,” He said evenly. Evenly; how he managed to do that he had no idea, his heart was racing again and he wanted to grin. 

Why he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He was so much closer to finding Kobra - 

That was a Crow, though, not a Drac. There was definitely a Drac around here. 

The paranoia was gone now - they’d already been discovered. Chances are, it was more than just the Crow who knew where they were. They needed to make this quick.

Party knew this, at one point at least, been a holding facility. He knew that because of the bloodstains on the floor of that white room he’d been in, that couldn’t be washed out of the white tile floor. Was it still a holding facility?

Shouldn’t there be more on staff for that? More security, more operatives? Was this a trap?

“All these rooms are empty,” Ghoul huffed, peering through the doorway of the next room, not shaken in the slightest from what had just happened. 

“There’s another hallway,” Party nodded slowly. It took his brain to process that Ghoul didn’t seem scared, or even startled, by the encounter he’d just had, but Party would do the same thing in his situation so he shook it off. Reputations were everything.

As Party and Ghoul were turning the corner, a white vampiric mask caught Party’s attention - 

Ghoul’s ray gun had gone off before Party’s was even held upright.

“We don’t have time for this,” said Ghoul, shrugging it off when Party looked at him in surprise. Okay, the Snow Storm’s got style. 

Party didn’t dwell on the other thoughts that would likely pile into his head later, when he could afford to relax, instead of motioning to Ghoul to walk in front of him.

There was another long hallway, endless white lights; the doors were white, the ceiling was white, the tiles were white, white, white, white, white, white, white, was this a good idea? He shouldn’t be here, there wasn’t enough color, no color, no color, no color - 

But wasn’t no color a good thing?

Party forced bile back down his throat as he clenched his jaw tight. Red hair fell into his face. Red, red, red. Wasn’t red just as bad?

“...Party? Party, you need to see this…”

Ghoul’s voice was distant - Party took a moment to recognize that no, no, Ghoul was actually a sizeable distance away from him, he wasn’t getting sucked back into his head. He couldn’t even see Ghoul - but there was only one open door at the end of the hallway, the door flung open and spilling even more white light with its opening.

Party practically sprinted from where he was to that last door. He stopped short, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

This wasn’t a holding facility, not anymore, Party had been right in that. His brother wasn’t going to be here. 

His heart didn’t even break at the thought - he was trying to fathom the tens upon tens upon tens of computer screens he saw, all giving the same glitching black-and-white smiley face logo.

The computer screens weren’t the worst even, even as they worked to make the room seem all too vast, all too difficult to process. The worst part, maybe, was the giant posters and open files and bold, black captains painting every single part of the walls that wasn’t already taken up by the computers.

Darting his eyes around, it just got worse and worse - the more he looked the more names he recognized, all above their own pinned up file.

STAR STEALER, ALIAS OF UNKNOWN

GOLDEN DAYS, ALIAS OF [REDACTED]

NIGHTMARE NOTHINGS, ALIAS OF [REDACTED]

TOMMY CHOW MEIN, ALIAS OF UNKNOWN

AGENT CHERRI COLA, ALIAS OF [REDACTED] [ENTER LEVEL 4 IDENTIFICATION CODE FOR CLEARANCE]

Maybe worst of all? All the files hung up, for all the colors listed on them, they were all shades of black and white if they had a reference photo of all. Everything was black and white and gray except the posters with a vibrant red X obscuring the unusual appearances of the poster’s stars. 

Or maybe the worst of all could’ve been file on the top of the left wall, next to a particularly high computer screen. The one with “PARTY POISON, ALIAS OF [REDACTED]” printed clearly at the top, his mug shot from in the City as a reference photo. The pages and pages underneath that photo, stapled or clipped or paperclipped together. 

Every killjoy Party had ever spoken too had a file in here, and if not in here, then in a different room. This was a research facility - no, no, it was more than that. 

It was a database.

A database of the revolution in the Zones. It was a database of everyone who had ever seen anything other than a grayscale and red in their lifetime. It was a database of every secret, every rumor Party had been trying to find in the last few days. All here, all in the hands of the company that started this war in the first place.

“Burn it all,” Party whispered; it was quiet, but it echoed, it echoed down the room. He might as well have yelled.

Ghoul spun on his heel, looking Party dead in the eyes, even with both their masks on, an absolute incredulous in his eyes and splayed across his face. “No!”

“Why the Hell wouldn’t we?” Party snapped, scanning the names once again. Everyone he had ever talked to was here, somewhere, he was sure of it. And there were names in here. 

Not just killjoy names. City names- even if they were blacked out, they were still City names, they were still supposed to be the most highly guarded secret anyone could offer. It needed to burn; an orange fire needed to lick the edges of each paper and computer he could see, an inferno of orange and yellow and true red to destroy all the white.

There was no reason it shouldn’t burn, and Party could feel the weight of Ghoul’s silence as he began to walk down, to the other side of this seemingly endless room, running his hand carefully along the wall, across each and every page of classified information. Every inked word fueled his hatred even more.

He hadn’t found his brother. Hadn’t found Kobra alive, or dead, or comatose.

Somehow this was worse than any of those options. The feeling was assured, his stomach twisting and making him blanch as he came across the file labeled THE KOBRA KID, ALIAS OF [REDACTED]. It was the only file he looked at, and even that was a bit too personal for him, and he’d grown up with Kobra.

They really did know everything.

Party hastily stuffed his ray gun in its holster, reaching into the depths of his pockets to find his lighter. Yet another thing he was sure was in his file, because it sure was in Kobra’s. Lighter’s were too personal to be adequately described in some lifeless folder.

The lighter shook in his hands - he even struggled to produce a flame for a minute, a constant click, click, click, making it even worse -, but the swirl of emotions going through his head was instantly made easier to deal with as he burned away the label on that file, just that label, just that.

The indignation, the hatred, the anger. All of it was so much easier to deal with now that his brother’s name wasn’t on some file. Party really was pathetic, was he?

“Stop that!” 

Party’s lighter was snatched from his hands by Ghoul, whose Frankenstein mask had migrated to the top of his head rather than hiding his face. He seemed infuriated. Like Party could read people. “What the Hell are you doing? Knock it off!”

“It all needs to burn, Ghoul,” said Party, neutral as he could manage, lips set into a thin line though he knew he could never disguise the fire that was in his eyes.

Fire. Oh, what a convenient metaphor for the time, no?

“No, it doesn’t!” Ghoul hissed, throwing his arms out in frustration.

Party snatched his lighter back, baring his teeth, never staying too long to that calm persona. “Don’t touch my lighter! What do you not get about ‘don’t touch’? I can damn well do what I please! This place is - it’s not right. It needs a fire!”

“We need to talk to Dr. D about this before we do anything! A place like this - what if some MicroChip could hack into those monitors, huh? What if we could get some secrets from BLI, and you decide to burn it down?”

“Those secrets die with this room, then! A secret for a secret. There was never a ‘we’ - it was me and I’m the one making the executive decision to light a match!” Party shouted, his voice rising as his frustration toward a Raven did - the venom he hadn’t seen in a while came back, less trickling from his voice as it was pouring, each word spat with a burning fervor. Like they always were. For better, or for worse.

Ghoul stumbled back, though Party had done nothing physical, an expression of shock on his face before he hid it well, features contorting into a wave of controlled sort-of anger. One Party had never had - seeing it made part of him envious, and that just made it worse. “There was never a ‘we’, huh? Who got you into the Lobby? Talked to  
Riot Crew for you? You don’t make all the calls here, Batt Rat! Dr. D needs to know about this!”

Party snarled at him - and honest to the Witch snarl -, “Call me a Batt Rat one more time, see what happens. My brother. My search. My car. My decision. And y’know what? I’m starting to think you should leave.”

“You can’t torch this place all by yourself. Have fun, Batt Rat,” Ghoul scoffed, pushing past Party - going out of his way to make sure he pushed Party’s shoulder. Party nodded the emphasis on the Batt Rat.

What’d he expect from a Raven?

“Walk back to Zone 2 for all I care,” Party snarked, knowing fully well Ghoul had walked away already. He was whispering, but the sound echoed, so he might as well have shouted it. 

Ghoul could radio someone or something, it didn’t matter to Party. Not if Ghoul was going to suggest that - that a place like this even needed a debate to be burned to the ground. 

All he kept seeing were new names, new names of killjoys who certainly didn’t deserve to have all their secrets, their entire history laid out so bluntly. There was no file on Fallacy Fame, though. Party had checked.

Party waited almost twenty minutes - the analog clock that was in the corner said so, that he’d noticed soon after Ghoul left - before he got his head together and decided what he needed to do.

First, the gas can in the back of the Trans Am wasn’t going to be used for the car. Second, Party was going to make sure everyone knew he was the one to start the fire, and what he set fire too. 

Ghoul’s radio wasn’t in the passenger seat anyway, Party noted silently as he grabbed the gas can. Guess Ghoul had taken him seriously, then. He really was gone.

The air of sadness that suddenly encased Party made him work faster, dousing each and every room as well as he could with the amount he had. Not too much, he needed to get a refill - the closest gas station was Witch-knows-where away. 

He was going to burn this place, and then he was going to look for his brother, and everything was going to be alright because that was what he was upset about. Extra care was put into making sure the horrid room with the files was thoroughly filled with accelerant - even the kitchen, especially the kitchen; Party didn’t even bother raiding the fridge or pantry. 

By some miracle, he had enough gas left to make a trail leading to the bottom of the small ladder. All he had to do was climb up, drop a match, and be done with it.

Well. Not quite. 

Party shook his head to himself as he shoved the gas can back into the trunk, hesitating only slightly before up a red can of spray paint, giving it a good shake. 

~

Party had saved one thing from that database horror.

One piece of paper - the one with his main information on it. His name, his photo, his City name, his birthday, his family. He saved that one. 

And he found himself crumpling it up, staring down into the secret facility in disgust.

Of course, he couldn’t drop his lighter. But he could take great pleasure in lighting that small, crumpled piece of paper start to burn to ash, a suitable flame as it tumbled down - 

Party jumped back as flames roared to life, the paper having transferred it’s flame to the accelerant. 

The red paint on his fingertips had stained around his lighter, but he didn’t care, watching in intrigue as the facility - which, quite honestly looked like the doorway to Hell from where Party was standing - burned, smoke rising into the air. 

It was quite beautiful.

Behind the flames, on the concrete foundation the door was by, neon red paint dripped, still wet, completing the image. 

RUNNING OUT OF THIS PLACE IN A BULLET’S EMBRACE, it read in a messy scrawl, Party’s pill-and-x logo sloppily drawn next to it. 

Art and gasoline, Party thought, two versions of a revolution. 

And he was going to use both, in all that he could. 

~

“Prisoner #B17, you’re subject to transport.”

The bored voice of a Draculoid drifted into the glass cell Kobra was in - Kobra himself was leaning against one of the cement halls, brushing his hair out of his face. And playing with the brand on his neck, running his fingertips along the raised skin. His own logo…

Kobra raised a brow. “I already told the last group of you. I’m not going anywhere without my acquaintance here, and I sure as Hell ain’t going back to one of your labs. Or did you not get the point?”

The Drac tilted its head, getting instructions on how to proceed. “You will accompany me, Kobra Kid. Your presence has been requested.”

“No, I won’t,” Kobra hummed, almost amused. “I told you my terms.”

“You think you are in any place to bargain?”

His fear of white vampiric masks wasn’t going to come back now, Kobra decided, determined to stare into those cold, blank eyes instead of around them. He glanced down to the ray gun in the holster on his hip, which had been dutifully returned to him the night after his incident with the Crow. A taunt, to confirm it was bait as if Kobra hadn’t known it already was.

“Yes, I am. I can take out more Dracs than I’m worth to argue against. It’s in your best interest to bargain with me.” 

There was a big difference between Kobra and Party, and it was moments like these that made it extremely clear to Kobra. Party got his way by his righteous rage or flirting. He could never keep a neutral facade, but that was the only way Kobra could lie. By keeping blank, intimidating. 

Party knew how to command a crowd, but Kobra knew how to pressure one person to accomplish his goal. A taught skill.

The Drac silently stared at him for a while longer. Of course, it didn’t physically respond to seeing Kobra’s intense eye contact, but whoever was on the Production Crew was certainly off-put by it. Cameras in the masks. “You and your companion will accompany me shortly.”

Kobra didn’t smile, didn’t think too much of the accomplishment. They couldn’t be going to another lab, then, because if so then he certainly couldn’t take out enough Dracs for them to deem him more trouble than he’s worth, and they wouldn’t bring Jet along…

Where they were going was probably worse, then. How nice. 

The Drac’s back-up showed up relatively quickly. An entire squad of more nameless vampire masks and two silent Crows.

They waited, and waited, and it took Kobra a second to realize they were waiting for him and Jet. Not coming in and grabbing them. 

The only issue with that was the glass door was also closed. Maybe it would’ve been cool if the glass was thinner, but it was at least four inches thick.

He tested the door.

It opened. 

Surprise showed on his face quickly, but Kobra hid it well and morphed back to the neutral expression that was going to get him through this. Jet walked out first, as per Kobra’s hand gestures. Jet didn't school his surprise as Kobra did, but Kobra didn’t say anything about it. Couldn't say anything about it.

All their planning, all their sign language talks and restless nights, this is where they really mattered. This was where they had to hope, and hope and hope, and maybe pray to the Witch, but they couldn’t talk to each other.

They just had to hope each other was enough. 

A Crow behind Kobra said something about “beginning their journey”, but Kobra wasn’t listening - instead he was hyperaware of everything around him, about the way they were walking, about the sound his jacket made as he walked, about the tiny imperfections in stark white walls, about the cold, unforgiving hallway stretching and stretching above him. 

“I want my mask back,” Kobra announced bluntly, making sure his voice echoed. He came to a halt, crossing his arms and waiting for those around him to catch on.

Jet was startled, too. That was what Kobra was banking on - Jet having a genuine surprise, or else BLI would know exactly what he was planning. They taught all this to him, after all. 

In unison, every Drac and Crow tilted their heads, even the ones who were behind Kobra he was sure. It was quite unsettling, but he refused to show a reaction to it and instead kept a bored, disinterested gaze straight ahead.

Only the Crow in front of him spoke, though. “Mask?” 

“Mask,” Kobra scoffed, tapping his foot. Impatience - or at least what everyone was going to think was a mixture of impatience and nerves. Maybe it really was nerves. “Domino mask. I want it back.”

“We have returned to you your jacket, your holster, yet you ask us for more?” The Crow inquired, lifeless as it was supposed to be.

Kobra nodded. “You’ve taken my jacket and my holster before you gave them back - they shouldn’t require given back, anyway. I want my domino mask back.”

“And if we refuse to return it?”

“I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” Kobra repeated his words from earlier with a quick, cold smile, letting his hands fall to his sides. Coincidentally, fingertips knocking against the barrel of that white ray gun. 

He wasn’t planning on using it, but then again, he hadn’t been planning on a lot of things. He’d have to wait and see. 

Silence from the Crow. Then, all of the Dracs and the two Crows turned on their heel, in a different direction - Kobra belatedly turned too and saw it was the direction of a completely different hallway. 

From the layout of most BLI facilities, personal belongings of prisoners or ‘patients’ were kept in a storage room somewhat close to where the prisoner or patient was being brought in and stripped of those belongings. Which meant it had to be near the entrance, right? 

Kobra’s heartbeat sped up, but again, he refused to show it, moving in sync with the group and not looking at Jet, who was still giving him the same look of confusion and surprise as before. 

They stopped at the door second furthest to the right. The Crow looked at him, just looked, and for a moment, Kobra thought he saw the Crow have a cold smile of its own.

Which was impossible. Because of the masks, right. 

“Box #B17. The second shelf to the floor, third shelf on the left,” the Crow told him, slowly, improving as instructions came and went through his earpiece.

BLI knew what he was doing, then.

Nevertheless, Kobra walked into the room (the other Crow had swiped its keycard to open the door), following instructions.   
None of the Dracs or even the two Crows followed Kobra in - but they also didn’t shut the door. It was intentional, Kobra knew it. Like it mattered anyway, no matter the intimidation and manipulation tactics BLI tried to pull to get Kobra to just comply, stick to what he was told weren’t going to work. He was The Kobra Kid, he knew what he was doing.

All belongings were stuffed into a clear plastic container clearly numbered with black marker on the lid - Kobra’s was where the Crow said it was. Inside - his domino mask, his ray gun, his boots, the pins that used to be on his jacket, and the polaroids that had been stuffed inside his pockets. 

There weren’t many boxes in here - there were seventeen, at most -, and some of them had dust on them. 

Kobra was almost positive a Drac had called Jet #B05 a day or so ago when Jet was being taken for an exam of some sort. Jet hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

With the gaze of so many operatives on him, Kobra calmly looked back at them, pulled the red domino mask out of the box and on his face, holding the ray gun in his hand - then, put the box away and started looking for Jet’s.

No one said anything. But Kobra knew the sound of a ray gun setting being changed, especially with so many being changed from kill to stun at one time. 

Jet’s box was one of the boxes covered in dust, Kobra found, or at least he thought it was Jet’s box. There was a black jacket with some sort of a design on it, a blue ray gun, dog tags - that was all Kobra could see at first glance.

He moved silently to hand it to Jet, still holding his own original red ray gun tight.

To his credit, he got all the way to the doorway before a Crow held a hand out to stop him, speaking lowly - “You are not allowed to do that.”

“C’mon,” Kobra said, rolling his eyes. “We both knew this was going to happen.”

And with that, he dropped the box, held the ray gun up and shot the crow, between the eyes. He couldn’t remember what setting it was on and he didn’t have the time to change it even if he did know. 

Kobra kicked Jet’s box across the floor, all of the Dracs’ and other Crow’s attention on him as chaos started to break free.

His own ray gun was practically useless in such close quarters, but so were theirs - Kobra took the bland white ray gun of his holster and hit a Drac in the temple with it before throwing it at another Drac, shoving in his red ray gun. Where it belonged.

The relief didn’t last long before the Dracs seemed to get organized, orders spewing into their ears and all, and they swarmed Kobra.

The white masks closing in on him, closing in, all at once; his heart seemed to beat out of his chest and he shut his eyes as tightly as he could before he forced himself to open them, with a strange calm.

Kobra alternated between knocking Dracs back and hitting ray guns out of their hands, making it easier for other Dracs to trip over them and hopefully make them more than partially immobilized and still conscious, and kicking back, knocking them down and knocking himself into whoever was behind him.

He couldn’t see Jet, but he didn’t need to, he already knew exactly where the sound of blasters was coming from and why. 

Kobra was fighting himself into a corner, he realized - or was being fought into a corner. Either way, it needed a change and Kobra gave it one, working his way over where Jet Star was, hoping the ray blasts would hit some of the Dracs that were too particularly close for comfort.

“Back to back, Jet Star, back to back,” Kobra didn’t even shout, didn’t need to shout with Jet so close, but he knew Jet heard it from when he nodded - 

He made an executive decision, he was far enough away for him to get his ray gun out, spinning around and hitting a stray Drac in the head that was about to sneak up on him, taking his chance to get back to back with Jet.

The Dracs were closer to Kobra than they were too Jet, so he still had difficulty being able to use his gun but he had more damage when he did manage to hit them.

See, now, Kobra could keep doing this all night, until BLI got tired of sending Dracs or they escaped.

He got worried when they stopped.

All the Dracs, more of which had come in, just...stopped. Tilted their head, took a step back, and stopped. Standing there, motionless.

“What the hell?” Kobra mumbled to himself, taking a cautious step toward one of them. Nothing happened. 

That was when Kobra heard a click, and his eyes instantly darted toward the source - the end of the hallway. The end of the hallway with a ladder. The exit! Dammit, the exit!

Kobra made quick eye contact with Jet, panicked, but Jet motioned his head back to what was happening at the end of the hallway, and Kobra’s panic rose even more.

There was a Crow, sealing off the entrance, and there was its Drac companion, holding a gas can.

“No, stop!” Kobra cursed, but it was already too late.

The Crow dropped its lit match.

The fire started almost instantly, and it was moving toward Kobra and Jet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Woo! This wasn't beta read, btw, because hell if i know where Mars disappeared off too, but anyway! Yeah! And early too! Thoughts?


	6. Let The Walls Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra Kid is in trouble - he's had enough of his love affair with fire. Unfortunately for him, the heat is rising and he doesn't have time on his side.
> 
> Party Poison is tired, and just can't wait until the next hurricane in his life hits him head-on. But he can't burn a bridge as easily as he can burn a file.

No, no no no no no - this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening; Kobra’s breathing came too quickly, maybe trying to use up all the clean air before the smoke started to burn his nose. They were locked in - and Kobra hadn’t seen any windows at all since he’d been in here. No windows and the only door leading outside (they were marked with multiple bolts) had just been bolted shut.

It would’ve helped if Jet’s instinct hadn’t been to shoot the Crow - or, namely, whatever had been in its hand. Which had been the keys... Kobra knew they had been melted and deformed by the heat of the blast before it even hit.

Beyond that, it was going to nearly be impossible to cross the flames. The lack of airflow in the facility was playing to their advantage right now, but the gasoline was hindering any advantage they had. Fighting Dracs was one thing. A completely different thing was trying to fight against nature unleashed within a machine. 

Kobra had no idea what he was doing, what he was supposed to be doing, but he grabbed Jet’s arm and started running in the other direction as the burning stench of smoke wafted further and further down the hall. 

They had to find a way to get out. They had to find a way out - Kobra and Jet hadn’t gone all this way for nothing. Kobra refused to die here, trapped amongst flames like a scared animal.

He was a killjoy, and killjoys never died. The Witch be damned, he was going to get out of this!

“You have any ideas over there, Flash?” Jet asked from behind Kobra, running but not panting. The adrenaline was still flooding their systems. Was that a good thing? Kobra didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care to know if it was a help or a hindrance.

“Thinking,” Kobra answered. They passed the cell they used to be in; where to go from there?

Could there by anything helpful in one of those labs Kobra oh-so loathed? Maybe something to put out the fire? 

No, no, they couldn’t put out the fire, not with all the gasoline. The fire would go out when it ran out of oxygen - and if Kobra and Jet got out, then it wouldn’t run out of oxygen. 

The bottom line, they couldn’t put it out. This place had to have an alternative exit, right?

Kobra hadn’t realized he was standing there, motionless and darting his eyes from one end of the hallway to the other - until Jet gave a big huff and started dragging him along, down the hall, to one of those labs. Maybe they could find an emergency exit plan?

Like BLI cared about a few more Dracs or a few Crows dying in the crossfire to keep their precious prisoners from escaping. A means to an end, right?

Jet didn’t wait for Kobra to catch up as they turned into one of the labs, the door swinging right open (unlocked...again. What was with that? Did Kobra care?) and rummaging through the files kept on one of the desks.

Kobra took to looking through one of the filing cabinets that were in the corner, studiously not looking at the gleaming metal chair in the middle of the room, lights shining down on it as if it was a place of worship. He didn’t have time for another crisis, there was a damn fire and an escape to be dealt with!

“Find anything?” Kobra asked, not even looking up. He wasn’t seeing anything important besides files (...in a filing cabinet. How odd.), and not even important files at that. Part of him couldn’t wait until the fire burned this room down. The rest of him realized he was in this room.

“Nothing to help us!” Jet shouted back. There was no reason to be shouting, but the panic made it seem necessary. Smoke was already drifting into the room. How much gasoline had that Drac spilled, where did it spill it?

“We have to hurry up, we have to hurry up…” Kobra started mumbling, over and over, abandoning his fruitless search of thumbing through files to look through the rest of the contents of the room. 

The concrete of the walls was too thick to just blast through, Kobra noted with a quick knock against the wall.

Then his brain started functioning again.

There were Dracs here, and Crows - Dracs traveled around with their ray guns. It was their only weaponry. But there were Crows here, too, and Crows were always more equipped to survive killjoy encounters than Dracs were. They couldn’t carry all their gear everywhere, right?

And if some of them were stationed in this Witchforsaken facility, that meant there was a separate room for Crow gear and equipment.

Crow’s were high-ranking. And they needed to get out quickly should they be deployed, because of the rarity that actually happened. All the rooms around the exit Kobra knew of weren’t big enough nor had enough security around them to be for gear.

Wouldn’t the Crows need their own exits? It would make sense to put an exit in the gear room…

If they could find the gear room, could they find another exit? Would it be unlocked?

“I have an idea,” Kobra mumbled to himself - the sound carried because of the silence he and Jet were in. “Follow me, look for a...I dunno, something like an equipment room. Crow gear room I guess.”

“Where are you going with that?” Jet asked, but he didn’t let that stop him from not following Kobra out of the lab in search of exactly that. 

Kobra used the doorway to swing out into the hallway, the smoke starting to burn his eyes and the flames starting to creep around the corner. They didn’t have much time left, did they?

How big was this facility? Could the door be locked? Could he have been wrong and there not be an exit in the gear room? 

Doubt doesn’t help anyone, Kobra cursed at himself. All he had right now was a bad shoulder and a brand on his neck and Jet and hope. A hell of a lot of hope, and, damn, it had saved him before, it could save him again.

As if on cue, Jet shouted - “Here! Over here, I found it!”

Kobra spun on his heel, barely registering where Jet was before he was already in the doorway. There it was, the gear room - rows upon rows of tidy, clean black-and-white weapons of destruction and masks of innocents. 

The important part.

“Look for an exit!” Kobra told Jet, pushing past him. The room was larger than it really should've bee - or at least that’s what it felt like. Too many rows and not enough time, the smoke was getting thicker and thicker in the air every second. Only some of the gear was put away, too, so Kobra had to maneuver over piles of potentially dangerous weaponry.

Kobra had just seen a glimpse - a glimpse, what a cruel hope to give and take away in a moment’s notice - of what he thought was a bolted door, marked by a red stripe across one of the bolts, before Jet was shouting at him again, far away, distant, where was Jet? Jet needed help, how did he get out of this mess?

“We seem to have more than just a fire to worry about!” Jet was yelling. When he came into view, Kobra found he was right, but something about all the panic and adrenaline in his system kept him from freezing up.

Pouring into the room were Dracs. Dracs that happened to be half-burned, their flesh melted and bubbling, but singed masks sticking tightly to their faces, ray guns leveled at Jet and Kobra’s hearts. Behind them, came licks of flame. A minute, at most. 

Less if they got shot, of course.

“Alright, alright…” Kobra mumbled, mostly to himself, “Uh - one of them has to have keys! I saw the door, we can get out of this - I - I - “

But Kobra didn’t have a plan. Kobra could improvise but he didn’t know how to convey that to jet with his heart beating erratically. The only thing he could come up with “Killjoy, make some noise!” before he had his own ray gun out again, a blazing beam of light flying across the room. 

A Drac fell. And chaos descended - even worse than the first time because this time there was no sense of order, no rules, and an added sense of panic.

This time, BLI didn’t care if they lived or died, and Kobra was hoping those ray guns were still set to stun as he tripped over a vest - barely catching himself and collapsing on the ground behind a shelf. 

He was panting, panic keeping him hyper-aware to every sound and change of light around him. He’d shot maybe...He didn’t know, three or four? 

Looking at their burns, did it matter if he shot them anywhere that wasn’t fatal?

Dammit, he didn’t need to waste time on this; Kobra forced himself back to his feet and peaked out at the chaos. A few Dracs he’d shot were back up. 

Some were unmoving on the ground and that’s what he needed to focus on. 

Kobra kept himself from tripping over anything this time, firing at anything that moved that was on the side of the doorway; almost marching across what had quickly become a battlefield. He got this, they really could get out of this, they got this, he could go home to see his brother, couldn’t he?

It was like the Witch could hear his thoughts. Because if she couldn’t, then the timing of all these disasters were getting awfully coincidental. 

Something in the hallway, just out of Kobra’s view from the angle he was at, collapsed; the resulting crash sent flames roaring into the gear room. His eyes widened. It may have knocked a few Dracs out, but this was a gear room and a gear room almost always had - 

They had to get out, they had to get out now.

Kobra hastily holstered his gun and started calling out for Jet, he needed to find him so they could get out before the flames got too far into this room, the haze of smoke was getting so thick he could barely see five feet in front of himself, he was coughing but he didn’t have time for coughing, they needed to get out -

A distant, far-off voice seemed to shout Kobra’s name. The smoke and the heat searing his arms and the remaining Dracs were making it difficult to see where the voice was coming from, but Kobra took a deep, smoke-filled breath and picked a direction. He picked the right direction, he guessed, because he was starting to see the outline of Jet laying slumped against one of the walls.  
“I got the keys,” said Jet; Jet’s shaking hands made them rattle together, but it didn’t matter all too much. They could get out of here! Holy shit, they really could!

“I could kiss you right now,” Kobra grinned- the smoke in his lungs was starting to burn and he was increasingly aware of the burning heat and the smell of burned flesh, but it was like his mind was lagging. He needed to take a second to appreciate that he was going to get out of this alive.

Kobra held out his arm to help Jet up, but the sharp coughing Jet let out when he reached up to take Kobra’s hand turned on all sorts of alarms in his head. And only when Jet was standing up, next to him, ever-so-slightly taller as the world seemed to burn down around them, did Kobra realize - 

Jet’s eyes. One was fine, a forest green mixing with silver. The other?

Well, the other, - Kobra had to force both bile and a string of particularly harsh curses down his throat, needed to force himself to move, get out of this fire as Jet broke into another fit of coughing - the other was a mangled mess of burning flesh and dried blood.

Kobra forced his feet to move, to fumble around in the smoke blindly even as a flaring pain bubbled up from his calf from what, he didn’t know. Even as he dragged Jet behind him despite the heat making his clammy palm slip every other foot. Even as a bright orange-and-red flame started to race in front of him. Even as the smoke in the eye made him start to cry.

Because there was a door somewhere. And Kobra was not going to die ten feet away from salvation; he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Jet suffer so much with so little payoff.

Kobra’s fingertips found metal - and instantly recoiled, the heat made it too hot to touch but it wasn’t melting, and that was all Kobra needed to know. 

Without saying a thing, the only sound being the raging inferno behind them, Kobra tore a part of Jet’s scrubs’ sleeve, wrapping it around his hands and shakily trying every damn key on the key ring. 

One? No, not that one.

Two? No. Something crashed from behind Kobra, making him drop the ring and hastily pick it back up.

Three? No, no, they were running out of time! 

Four? Yes! That one!

The door didn’t push open - Kobra’s bloodied and burned palms resisted, despite the cloth wrapped around his hands, and he pulled the door open. It didn’t open as easily as it should’ve, but the relief Kobra felt when cool air hit his face was immeasurable.

Even though he wanted to collapse right then and there, Kobra managed to push himself, out the door, out onto the sand, (sand? Sand! They were still in the Desert!), running, running, pulling Jet along with him.

Kobra didn’t know much about fire. But he did know his split-second decision to keep running might’ve saved them both because the door on its own accord swung itself open even more, an explosion bursting behind him that threw both him and Jet several feet forward. 

He was out of good ideas for the night, he found. Moving seemed like an impossibility, everything burned.

Ha. Burned. Burned….

Kobra started laughing to himself, loud, ridiculous laughter, nearly snorting, rolling onto his back. Burned. He didn’t even mean to make the pun, but for some reason, it seemed like the funniest thing in the world, then.

It must’ve been around sunset. It was getting colder, but not cold enough to have dropped below freezing, and the sky was turning an odd orange-pink. Sunset...They had just missed the sun. The burning of the sun.

It was a sobering thought to remember that he was not prepared for one of the Zone’s frigid nights, nor was he prepared for the heat the next day would bring. He needed to - 

No. Not just him. There was Jet, too, he remembered, then scrambled onto his knees, over to where Jet was -

How did he manage to forget? He was such an idiot, oh Destroya, Jet needed medical attention, too.

Jet had landed on his back; luckily, he hadn’t gotten a mouthful of sand because of it. Or more importantly, the eye injury on his face didn’t get filled with sand. Still conscious, but barely, it seemed, as he wasn’t saying anything and the one eye fluttered closed after Kobra gave a worried smile. 

Kobra wasn’t prepared for this, he hadn’t thought any further than an escape - He hastily took the stripes of cloth off his palms, everything in his body screaming in protest, but they made his movements clunky and uncoordinated. He tore off more stripes of cloth, this time from the bottom of Jet’s shirt, wondering how he managed to have any strength at all after that.

Sitting here, unmoving, a second passed - it was like Kobra’s brain short-circuited. He didn’t know what to do before he forced himself to think, okay, he had to cloth stripes, what did he do now?

He wrapped one around Jet’s head and gently tried to place one over jet’s eye like a cotton ball, that was what he did. It wasn’t proper bandaging without proper bandages, and they needed to find shelter before it got too cold. Kobra didn’t even know if he had completely missed a procedure, he just knew you were supposed to bandage injuries.

As much as Kobra was starting to appreciate cold weather, escaping from an inferno was going to do either him or Jet any good if they died before they could tell anybody.

“Don’t try to mess with it, yeah? I’ll - I’m gonna see where we are,” Kobra told him, soothingly. Leaving Jet out in the open like this, completely vulnerable felt wrong, but Kobra couldn’t see anything with a quick glance and, if BLI did send out reinforcements, they needed to be long gone.

He couldn’t do that if he was holding Jet up the entire time. Jet was even more injured than him; the mangled eye alone made that. But he also hadn’t been outside that facility in years, he wasn’t in the right physical state regardless of injuries for Kobra to start dragging him around instantly. 

Jet didn’t answer more than a weary groan, so Kobra took that as an OK and somehow managed to push himself up to his feet. Nothing sounded more appealing than falling back on the ground, embrace the sand and lay there for a few more hours.

It was tempting. Nevertheless, Kobra looked out at the horizon, studiously not looking back at the hellhole he’d just escaped from. His blatant disregard to look in that direction may end up killing him, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He started off in whatever direction was opposite that facility.

_

Kobra wanted to collapse, and he still had about another mile to walk, he thought. 

He was in Zone Two, maybe on the border of Zone Three. Whichever Zone it was, he knew it was on the East Side from the lack of buildings.

The closest building he’d found was a mile away, and by some miracle, it might’ve been the one building Kobra needed. He was walking back to Jet now, hoping and praying to any deity that would take his prayers after all his desperation that he was walking to the right place.

He was, and he knew that when he saw Jet - still laying in the exact same place Kobra left him.

It had gotten increasingly colder; Kobra cursed himself again, he was an idiot! He had a leather jacket, of course, he wasn’t going to think it was too cold out right now, but Jet’s jacket was more denim than leather from the quick look Kobra had had of it, and with his eye - ugh, he was dumb!

“Are you awake?” Kobra asked hesitantly, kneeling down next to Jet. Now that he wasn’t so...filled with adrenaline, now that he was dealing with the aftermath of the day’s events rather than the actions, he paid closer detail. 

Jet was just as, if not more, covered in soot and smoke than Kobra, ash smeared across Jet’s face and around the cloth over his eye. The jacket was dirty, too; whatever design was on the back was hidden to Kobra’s eye from the way Jet was laying, but...The reassurance that came from seeing one of his allies wearing killjoy attire made Kobra feel almost ashamed in his relieved reaction.

No answer was given to his question until Kobra gently shook Jet’s arm, mumbling - “It’s getting cold out, you need to get up, okay? A short walk and then you can take a nap, can you do that?”

Kobra was giving himself the pep-talk as well, he realized. But Jet answered, startling Kobra only slightly - “I could sleep for a whole year,” Jet groaned.

“Yeah, me too,” Kobra laughed. Jet wasn’t gonna mention his eye, was he? “We have to get out in the open before then. Can you walk?”

“It’s not my legs that are injured,” Jet snorted. He propped himself onto his elbows but seemed to struggle even with that.

They could both examine their injuries and properly address them when they were safely stowed away.

Kobra shook his head in mild amusement, offering to help him up. It was much different when he wasn’t in a gear room, hastily trying to get away before the flames had their love affair with the explosives kept in the corner. “Yeah, yeah. I’m too tired to bicker with you.”

Jet accepted help. “Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s the sore throats from the smoke inhalation.”

“We have enough problems already. Don’t add in something I hadn’t even thought of.”

“Too late. Where are we going, exactly?” sighed Jet, looping an arm around Kobra shoulders.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea for time efficiency, but Kobra returned the gesture. They were both leaning on each other, and while Kobra had just walked two miles by himself he was instantly relieved. He was exhausted.

“Place called Blue Grave. You heard of it?” Kobra said, gesturing with his free hand to the direction they were going to be walking. Night had fallen; could they make it before the temperature did too?

Jet nodded - stopped himself short, though. Made sense. Kobra wouldn’t want to nod if his head hurt as much as he was sure Jet’s did. “‘Course I have. Mostly just the ghost stories, though…”

“Make some undead friends, then. It’s the closest we have to a hospital.” Blue Grave was the name given to a hospital Kobra had never personally been to before today. It was an old, abandoned hospital on the East Side of the beginnings of Zone Three (Kobra had been right about where he was!), known for being haunted, and not much else. But it was a hospital and a hospital that not many visited. Which meant it was perfect for Kobra and Jet.

The pair trekked across the sand in silence for most of the walk. Too much effort to talk; Jet had probably been right about the smoke inhalation if that could explain why Kobra’s throat hurt like all Hell above.

When the hospital did come into view, Kobra nearly broke out into a cheer. The building itself was hard to see in the darkness that had blanketed the desert since he’d last been here, but it was a tall building with most of the higher levels standing only by their concrete-and-metal framework. The lower levels, though, they were enclosed and some even still had supplies. 

“Everyone is going to think we’re dead,” Jet blurted from beside Kobra.

Kobra, quite honestly, didn’t even have the energy to give him a weird look. His shoulders sagged - yet another thing he hadn’t thought of and didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with. “Yeah. I know. But so will BLI.”

“Except they won’t find our bodies in the fire.”

“With all the attention that fire is sure to draw when the smoke gets it discovered, do you really think they’re gonna risk going back there?” Kobra asked, genuinely curious. Sarcasm took too much effort. 

If Jet tried to shrug, it got lost in the tangle that they seemed to be in, fumbling along and occasionally tripping over each other. “Maybe. What are we gonna do if they do find out we’re alive? We’re pretty easy to find…”

“Right now we are. We can find my brother, he’s surely looking for me,” Kobra said, the confidence he hadn’t had in a while coming back to him. But was he so confident about that? “Currently, we operate under the assumption that BLI thinks we’re dead. The Desert already thinks you’re dead from how long you’ve been gone and...I’m sure there’s been some Hell raised about me.”

“That just makes it -”

Kobra cut Jet off; his voice didn’t carry well over the wind since they both collectively decided to run the last few feet to the hospital. Kobra wanted to pass out the moment his feet hit concrete flooring, from the sheer relief that washed over his bones (for, what, the third time that day?). “We can think about it later! We’re gonna make it through the night and that’s the only thing that matters!”

The tired, soothed grin that spread across Kobra’s face said everything else. 

They were going to survive. They just needed to find a few blankets, and maybe look for some food, and then use the medical supplies already here.

Kobra was alive. And he was going to make it through the night.

_

Party got red paint on the steering wheel.

All of Ghoul’s things that’d been in the backseat were gone; the only reminder being the rumpled, overturned blankets. 

The red paint on his fingertips from his impromptu graffiti had fallen to the back of his mind, but his focus was decidedly on the irritation that spawned from the paint staining the steering wheel.

Yeah, there were more pressing matters at hand. He knew that. He knew he should be focused on finding Kobra, or about why there was a facility full of files in a Desert when everything could be digital, or even why he snapped at Ghoul like he had.

But he didn’t want to think about all the things he’d done wrong and all the instances where he was reminded he wasn’t good enough or that he was a freak who hated being touched or that his temper was too short or that he was too incompetent to figure out what a damn fifteen-year-old had to do with something so close to him.

There was no particular reason he was feeling like this; Party knew that. He’d already had his fair share of breakdowns in the last few days; he thought he had finally gotten everything in his head sorted out long enough for him to find his brother.

Where did he go from here? He’d burned down the last lead he’d had, maybe with another bridge too. Ghoul had been by his side for most, if not all, of the disaster that was Party’s search for Kobra. 

His brother was in danger and all he could think about was how much he fucked up. How fitting.

The guilt weaved its way into Party’s thoughts as the sand dunes passed by. He didn’t even know where he was going. Of course he was driving aimlessly when he should have a game plan, he should know exactly what he was doing.

What did it even matter?

It had been at least a week-and-a-half since Kobra had gone missing if Party was counting the entire week his incompetence kept him from realizing, hey, it doesn’t matter if I have definitive proof. A week-and-a-half. What were the chances Kobra was even alive? That he was even in the Zones, if he was?

It didn’t. It didn’t matter. The numbers could swirl around in Party’s head for hours and it wouldn’t change the fact that Kobra was probably dead or in the city and when it plastered across every screen in the city, it would be Party’s fault. 

Screw it. Just...just screw it. What was around here, anyway? Hopefully a place to crash.

Sure, he’d gotten more than a few hours of sleep last night, but driving around to waste gas and arson and burning bridges took a toll, and Party wanted a nap. A nap and maybe a one-on-one therapy session with whichever deity he’d pissed off even to put him in this situation in the first place. 

He was in...Ah, he was probably in Zone 5, maybe. There were no specific landmarks around for him to know for sure. Paradise Motel was around here, somewhere.

A quick glance in the glovebox told Party he had enough carbons for a stay at the Motel. Enough for a nap and a quick berating session in the mirror, right?

Yeah, yeah, this was fine. He’d be back on his game tomorrow. Decide later if he was going to keep the burning of the facility - and the facility in general - a secret or not. Decide later where else he could go to look for his brother. 

_

The rooms in Paradise Motel were about as nice as the staff, which wasn’t saying much. They were dirty, and grimy, and had a smell with an origin Party didn’t even want to know, Party was pretty certain there was something crawling on one of the corners.

It was the closest Party had been to a home in a long, long time. 

Part of him hated that he was reminded of ‘home’ - not in the emotional sense but the physical sense. He didn’t need a home, and if he did, his home was his brother. Part of him remembered that you were charged extra if you broke anything.

That being said, the mirror lived on to see another day. Party then decided it best to cut his losses and laid on the bed, staring up at the rather yellowed ceiling, letting his eyes shut on their own accord. 

So of course, an hour or so of tossing and turning showed that while Party wanted to nap, his body said no. He wanted to nap and let the world fade away for just a few hours, but he couldn’t fall asleep, no matter what position he was laying in or what he somehow ended up thinking about.

While he resigned himself to laying awake for the rest of his stay, staring up at the ceiling and filtering through any of the thoughts in his head, he was not okay with someone knocking on the door.

He groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. He didn’t want to answer the door. Why was anyone knocking on the door? For all they knew he was in the middle of jerking off. Clearly he wasn’t, but still, he could be!

“Open this damn door or I’m bringing a bat to your precious car!” The words were muffled to Party, but he could hear the deadpan. And the threat to his car.

Great. Now he had to socialize or face the wrath of a baseball bat, huh?

“Door’s open!” Party huffed, not moving at all. 

Untrue to his hopes, whoever was outside the door heard him and he heard the door creaking open. And then something was thrown on his back. 

Party hissed, rolling over and sitting up in a split-second, blinking to readjust his eyes to the light - “Ghoul?! What in the Witch?!”

“You’re moping. C’mon. We have somewhere to go.” Ghoul didn’t look angry - instead, if anything, he looked bored, his arms crossed and waiting for Party to get with the program.

Party hesitantly looked from Ghoul to what was tossed at him; it was a...It was a file. It was Fallacy’s file.

Y’know, the file Party hadn’t found in that facility he burned down? Why did Ghoul have it? Why hadn’t Party found it in his search?

The questions were sucking his mind down into a haze, but he forced himself out of it, instead sneering at Ghoul. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

“I have a few ideas on what exactly happened with Fallacy. I tend to try productivity when you’re busy driving around for...what was it, four hours? And then napped for about two more?”

“I didn’t fall asleep here,” Party scoffed, and it was true. “I’m still not going anywhere with you. I’m sure as Hell not doing it on your orders, either. Who do you think you are?”

“I like to think I’m a Snow Storm with a better sense of socialization than some killjoys I know,” Ghoul shot back, his arms still crossed. Waiting for Party, still. “It might be in your best interest to ‘follow my orders’.”

Party huffed, “Bastard,” falling off the tip of his tongue, but he stood up anyway, making sure his glare was prominent as he stretched. His neck popped but the majority of his body was outraged that he wasn’t asleep, or lying down, or even underneath the blankets in general. 

Ghoul snickered. “That I am. But a bastard that gives a damn about the tragedy in the making we like to call Party Poison. Let’s go.”

“You expecting me to drive you again?” Party mumbled, all the bite drained out of his voice. The file on the bed sat unattended to, but Party wouldn’t pick it up. Didn’t want to pick it up.

Ghoul shook his head, walking over to pick it up for Party, either not caring or not noticing how Party was fidgeting. “Nah. Got a ride of my own - ain’t no motorbaby myself, but she’s pretty. Were gonna out a way’s out to North Zone Four, if you don’t wanna waste any gas you can go with me.”

“That sounds…” Party drawled, laughing ever-so-slightly. Why? He didn’t know. “That almost sounds like either a demand or as if you’re flirting with me, Ghoulie dear.”

“Has your screwy sleep schedule finally gotten to your head? I’m offering you a ride so your broke mask doesn’t have to waste the gas, Crash Queen.”

Party flicked his hair back, dramatism oozing from every motion. He was tired, he was done with socializing, he didn’t want any more false hope, and he thought he’d already burned this bridge. Why not? Fake it ‘till you make it, right?

And Party Poison, as the Desert knew him, was a flirt and - if you will - a Cherry Bomb and dramatic to his core. Ghoul should get to know that, no?

His current lack of self-esteem, motivation, and overall idea that he had already burned this friendship to the ground said yes, yes Ghoul should. “Fine, Ghoulie. You better have something to keep my attention.”

Ghoul snorted. “Yeah, and you better take a nap.”

Flipping him off without a second thought, Party rolled his eyes, as ridiculous and dramatic as he possibly could. “Tried that already. The ghosties ‘round here said no.”

“Whatever. I leave you alone for five hours…” Ghoul shook his head, again, motioning Party to walk with him. “I’ve got an entire conspiracy for ya.”

“Who picked you up, anyway?” Party asked, instead of inquiring about what Ghoul’s conspiracy could be. Better to not know, keep him from being antsy, y’know? 

“Radioed in a Black Cape I know,” Ghoul shrugged, waiting for Party to walk out before him so he could slam the door.

Party could say he could picture Ghoul hanging out with vampires and all sorts of monsters, but he could also honestly say Ghoul didn’t seem the Black Cape type. Ghoul was more emo than he was goth, in that sense. “Owed you a favor?”

“Only reason to ask a Black Cape to come out in’ta sunshine.”

The best way to pass the time was, of course, idle small talk. Idle. What an odd word, party thought, mulling over it in his mind. 

Idle. Idle always meant something important was going to happen. Some other disaster was going to knock him off his pedestal. Some other hurricane in his head was going to make him question himself. Over and over again - Party didn’t think he liked idle. 

That being said? He didn’t like the aftermath of idle.

He was, however, happily content with curling up into some (less grimy) mattress in some Diner he’d never been too before as Ghoul tried to explain to him why he should stay awake for what he was saying, his leather jacket laying on him but he wasn’t wearing it, his blanket tucked to his chest and letting all the guilt fade away.

If only for a few hours. If only for a few minutes, really. 

Because when he woke up - and he could say this for sure, despite only half-listening to Ghoul’s wild claims -, there would be Hell to pay. And Fallacy Fame was going to be the one paying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WASNT PROOF READ AND THE END KINDA SUCKS WHAT YALL THINK


	7. We Spark, We Fade...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Ghoul should've been concerned when he woke up before Party for the first time, well...ever. Things are too slow and they don't have the time for it.
> 
> Everything was moving too quickly for Jet to know what was going on. First he was a prisoner, next he was bluffing his way out of certain death...?

Party hadn’t listened to anything Ghoul said when they got to the Diner. Ghoul knew because there’d been no argument about staying; no temper tantrum when Ghoul mentioned some of his theories. 

When Party slept, Ghoul found, he was almost uncomfortably clingy. Ghoul attributed it to how touch averse he was when he was awake. Touch starvation was no good for anyone, any self-respecting killjoy knew that by heart. So Ghoul didn’t push Party off him, for that reason. There were no complaints about it after Ghoul laid down next to Party to call in for the night.

The issue was waking up. When he woke up, it was too calm. Sunshine streamed through the windows, (the mattress was pulled into the dining area) Party’s breathing was even - Party himself was nearly on top of Ghoul; one arm was thrown over his chest, their legs tangled and Party huddled as close as possible into Ghoul’s side, radiating heat. The only noise in the small Diner was the pair’s breathing, and Ghoul couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. 

It was different from running solo. Ghoul was used to waking up, sun beating down on him, a firefight feet away. He was used to waking up, his side burning, people panicking above him. He was used to waking up, crickets singing or birds screaming.

Not something so...domestic. 

Domestic enough to startle him or not, Ghoul was going to die of heat exhaustion if he didn’t crawl out of both his blankets and being Party’s pillow. 

Gently pushing Party off him - who immediately curled in on himself to get comfortable -, Ghoul analyzed the shitty situation he was in. 

He’d gotten Party to a safe location, it was about mid-morning…

...And he didn’t have any way of protecting this place should anyone find it, minus a couple of ray guns and a hell of a lot of spite. Oh, great. Neither of those was enough should BLI come creeping around the corner.

A quick glance back over to Party as Ghoul stretched reminded him that Party was still out cold. That wasn’t good. A trip down to Bayside would take two hours top speed, and he didn’t have the gas for top speed anything, and he didn’t have enough carbons for a full tank, and that wasn’t even counting the trip back or that he’d be traveling when it was hottest.

So if Ghoul went, he’d be gone most of the day, give or take. Anything could happen in that time. 

If he didn’t go, they’d both be defenseless from something that half-charged ray guns couldn’t help, but he wouldn’t waste gas and Party wouldn’t freak out when he woke up alone.

The decision was finalized with a heavy sigh, with some scampering around for something to write with.

He eventually found a Sharpie in some forgotten corner = he scribbled a note on the back of Party’s hand about where he was going and when he’d be back, ending it with a hasty version of his logo.

He had to scavenge around for his sunglasses, or a helmet. His black-and-green helmet was, apparently, hidden underneath a counter, but free of any dust, so Ghoul called it good and took one more good look around, trying to find that sense of tranquility he woke up.

And off he went. 

_

The drive went smoothly, which was as concerning as waking up like he had. The calm before the storm, he supposed, considering Party was sure to become the storm he was preparing for. 

Either way, Party being the reason he was dragged into this in the first place aside, BLI was going to be o]after their heads, because of that facility. 

It would’ve burned down anyway, it was just a matter of when. Ghoul still thought he was right in waiting to wait; they’d never had that much BLI tech in front of them and without the risk of a Drac walking in at any second to zap them into next century.   
It burned down, end of the story, except it wasn’t. Now BLI, to prove a point if anything else, was going to be searching for the famed Party Poison in every corner or crevice they could. It didn’t matter if the general public, or the population of the Zones, knew about why. 

They’d kill Party because he took their valuable time and did something they weren’t expecting.

Ghoul had a lot of time to mull over this, sand dunes flying past him as his engine hummed contentedly about the amount of Ocean Avenue it was eating up. The Bayside had most of his trinkets and toys and half-finished explosives, since he hadn’t been around to the Diner in a while and honestly didn’t care if he was pretty much living in the deep end of an empty abandoned pool.

No one really ever went out to Bayside, anyway, unless it was for a party. 

Stupid Party and Ghoul’s stupid attachment to this suicide mission. There was just something about Party, about the way he talked, that pulled you in and made you believe every word. It got Ghoul hooked into a mission that would surely get him killed - if BLI had really gotten Party’s brother…

But oh well. Ghoul was in it for the long run now. 

Only by the time he got to Bayside did he realize he hadn’t brought a backpack or anything to carry his trinkets; thankfully, he had a backpack with half of his trinkets spilling out of it already. Sometimes he saved his own life, because he would’ve been pissed had he ridden all the way out here only to realize that he didn’t have anything to put his things in.

_

Party was still out cold.

When Ghoul got back to the Diner, the sun setting already, his backpack full of highly explosive substances and his gas tank running on empty, Party was...in the same place Ghoul had left him. 

“What the fuck?” Ghoul muttered to himself, stepping cautiously around Party in case Party was messing with him. 

But Party didn’t jump up. Party was just...passed out...and...shivering?

Oh, oh shit - Ghoul dropped down next to him, pressing the gloved back of his hand to Party’s forehead. He was still pretty much a furnace, why was he shivering?

The only explanation that came to mind was a fever. Fuck, Party couldn’t have a fever, now was so not the time to have a fever, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, there wasn’t time for that and if BLI found them Party couldn’t be delirious with fever.

How did he even catch a fever, anyway? As far as Ghoul could tell Party wasn’t on anything, what other causes of fever did he know…? There was stress...check, for that one...there was an infection...Party wasn’t injured though, right?

Right?

Wrong. Ghoul was wrong - he threw the blankets off Party just to make sure that it wasn’t an infection, he was hoping to every deity he knew the name of that it wasn’t an infection. 

The first thing that caught his eye was the burned cuff of Party’s jeans - left leg - before he started cursing under his breath, fumbling around with his hands until he settled on: okay, he needed to see if it was an infection. Remove the cloth around it. 

Don’t vomit, first off.

Ghoul had never been the best with infections. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to treat them (he had to be an amateur medic, after all, he did run solo), it was that it just looked...wrong. The burn itself was covered in a thin layer of yellowed skin; around the edges were still blisters. Ghoul hated burns; of course, it was the injury Party got stuck with.

Because of course Party, the Cherry Bomb, the crash queen, the hurricane, would have a fever and an infection the moment Ghoul thought it’d be nice to have some of that signature fire around, a bit of the snark and all of the trigger finger.

That was off track, Ghoul thought to himself, diligently cutting off the cuff of Party’s jeans with the pocket knife he pulled out from his jacket, trying his best to not agitate the burn. 

Party flinched, nearly kicking Ghoul, and Ghoul winced himself, having to hold Party’s leg down. Maybe with the fever and his attitude in general, he hadn’t realized he’d gotten the burn?

How did you not realize the infection burn on one of the legs you’ve been walking around on all day? 

It didn’t help that Ghoul didn’t exactly have any spare ‘please don’t get even more infected I am begging you and get better soon’ ointment or bandages, so he was going to have to make do with what he had - 

Or. Always an or.

Or he could take Party out of the Diner. But he didn’t have any gas and a motorbike was not a good way to handle an unconscious person...He had his radio, right, though? And if he could get Show Pony to come out with the van, maybe he could get some gas in his own tank and Pony could bring some clean bandages…

Screw any theories he had going on, none of them mattered at all if the only one they applied to died of, like, infection or fever or something! Could you even die from an infection that not-bad or a fever?

Ghoul just knew that they were bad and he needed to get Party back into ass-kicking state as soon as possible, because they were not only on the run from BLI, but also most likely were going to have to beat up a fifteen-year-old. 

Fumbling around for his radio, which had somehow migrated to sitting on the cracked-leather seats of a bar stool, feet away. Ghoul couldn’t tear his eyes away from the burn wound.

It wasn’t the worst thing Ghoul had come across. Certainly not. 

But it was Party, and he wasn’t used to Party being feverish and not running his mouth and injured. Ghoul was used to Party being a flurry of motion that snapped at him whenever he came within an inch of Party’s personal space - yeah, he’d been gathering the threats for a while now. He didn’t mean to! -; he wasn’t used to this and he didn’t like it.

“Show Pony?” Ghoul murmured into his radio, fingernails gripping the flecking paint on the small device. Seeing Party as feverish as he was, compared to as full of life as he was supposed to be, was unsettling in a way Ghoul couldn’t describe. He hated it. “Pony, got me a ‘mergency in the Diner.”

Ghoul’s voice trailed off, still staring at Party, listening to the static of no reply until Show Pony’s voice suddenly echoed through the room, emanating from the radio, crackling to life. Still did nothing to help Ghoul’s unease. “What’s wrong, Raven? Firefight? Anythin’ goin’ Costa Rica we need’ta know about?”

“No.” Yeah, it was definite that no one else needed to know their current predicament. “No, but Party Poison has a ‘fected burn on his leg and I need gas. And some bandages.”

“What happened? Is he okay? And - hate to ask - but you cashin’ in one of those favors we owe ya?” Favors meant a lot in the Zones.

But staying alive meant more, or at least it was supposed to, so, sure, yeah, he was. Cool. “Whatever gets you here quickest! Party’s got a fever and...well, he made some rash decisions and I made a few theories and BLI might be coming after Party full force and I might beat up a scene kid.”

“Love the TMI, darlin’. I’ll get back’ta ya as soon as I can. Be out there soon. Tell ‘im to hang on for me, can’t have the red runnin’ through our veins fadin’ already.” 

Whatever that meant, Ghoul didn’t know and also wasn’t going to figure it out, letting the sounds around him fade back into static.

For the meantime, while he waited for Pony to show up for what he needed to fix Party, Ghoul remembered that he should probably put the blankets back on Party, as his shivers were getting more intense and a bit more violent, actually. 

He had a few hours to tinker. Too long. Whatever timeframe he had set in his mind, it was blown to bits by now. Improvisation was needed and Ghoul was only good at that if the thing he was improvising was happening right then. 

So. Party was out cold; probably wasn’t going to be walking around for a good day or two, if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it. Fallacy Fame was...well. Fallacy Fame was probably the reason they were in this mess in the first place.

See, Ghoul had snagged Fallacy’s file from off the wall while Party wasn’t looking. Later, he’d folded it and somehow shoved all the papers into his pocket, but at the time he’d stuck it under his shirt and hoped Party didn’t notice.

And he formed a theory, in the five hours he managed to remove himself from the mess that was the Venom Brothers - one an infamous dumbass, and the other an infamous missing dumbass, from what he knew and had heard.  
Fallacy had no business knowing Kobra was missing. Both Party and Ghoul knew that. 

Fallacy had also seemed to take great pleasure in watching Party seeth, seemed to know just a little too much for coincidence, seemed to mock Party, seemed to only swing by Skate Asylum when Party was around, according to Star Stealer. 

Maybe he was just overthinking things because he didn’t know everything, maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but it seemed a little bit obsessive, didn’t it? 

He knew BLI had Kobra before Party had ever ruled out another ‘joy crew taking him…

What if Fallacy Fame, the neon green haired bastard that he was, turned Kobra in? BLI offered a hefty compensation fee for a killjoy tip, even if you are a killjoy yourself…

And Kobra’s was one of the highest, actually. It was at 550,000 C last Ghoul had seen one of the posters. But Party was worth more - a whopping 650,000 C -, so why not rat Party out instead of Kobra?

Unless it wasn’t for compensation at all.

Unless it was about Party. 

If it was about Party, then it would explain why Fallacy just happened to be at the Market at the same time as Party, why he just happened to leave scathing hints about knowing something, why he started a conversation and instantly brought Kobra up (after calling Ghoul a lapdog, no less, with that gross innuendo). 

It would explain a lot, even if Ghoul didn’t quite know a motive or a reason. Again, he could just be jumping to conclusions, like he’d tried to tell Party before he’d fallen asleep. But Ghoul’s theory was the closest to a working, plausible explanation they had as to why Kobra got captured all of a sudden.

Kobra was too smart and too good at combat to be taken randomly, Party always insisted. But there was no other reason to explain why Kobra had been taken other than that, until now.

_

Ghoul found himself creating another one of his signature explosives at the corner, with the stuff he’d brought in his backpack when he heard one of the Diner’s doors slam over...and then the sound of Show Pony’s skates on the tile. 

“Did you bring the stuff?” Ghoul asked, before even swiveling around, his trinkets set down haphazardly (which was not safe, but it didn’t really matter). 

Party’s shivering had gotten worse and worse. He’d woken up a few times in the hours it had taken Pony to get out to the Diner, but each time he said more nonsensical than the last, which Ghoul counted as the fever getting worse. 

Pony nodded, somehow managing to crouch down next to Party, before sitting on the tile mermaid style and looking through one of those cute pink backpacks they’d brought, muttering to themself. “Has he woken up at all?”

“Ironic I was just thinking about that. Yeah, few times, but he’s, uh, it’s just nonsense. Can’t understand a thing he’s sayin’. Haven’t checked on his ankle, didn’t know if I could put a dirty piece o’ clothing on it without it making it worse.”

Pony nodded. “Gettin’ bad. Ya can feel it in how much heat he’s radiatin’. He needs’ta drink somethin’, when he wakes up. Liquids are important. As for the burn infection...We’ll see what I can do. Get so’more blankets for him, he needs ‘em.”

Without commenting that Ghoul wasn’t sure if he had any more blankets, let alone stored in the Diner, Ghoul walked away in search of said blankets. Pony wasn’t one to mess with when they were doing med stuff; they got all snappy and irritated and it just made for a worse day or everyone. 

Ghoul purposefully took as long as possible. He didn’t want to see what med stuff Pony was doing, how they were going to fix that infection, see their face worriedly contort and scrunch up as they examined the damage.

He’d seen the process before, usually with Pony leaning over to inspect Ghoul’s own injuries.

The blankets were found in...the old freezer? Okay, yeah, the old freezer it was, then. A comforter style blanket and a few smaller blankets, that weren’t really good for keeping in the heat but certainly looked pretty with all the colors on them. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Pony nodded, skating up next to Ghoul while Ghoul was walking back into the dining area. He would’ve been startled had he not heard the telltale sound o Pony’s skates getting louder and louder as they approached. “Just needs to sleep it off and stay off the ankle for a while. And ya said ya need gas?”

Ghoul nodded. “Yeah, just about ran out. Had’ta go back to Bayside for stuff. Party, uh, it’s a long story but basically Party burned down an entire facility. S’how he got the burn.”

“...BLI certainly ain’t gonna be a fan of that. I’m glad you got ‘im to the Outer Zones, even jus’ barely. You need anythin’ else?” 

Placing the blankets on Party, Ghoul sighed, shaking his head, annoyedly flickering a chunk of hair out of his hair. “This is enough to pay back one’a the favors. I think I got it...But, hey, could’ja put word out - Party did somethin’ big. Just say that. Party did somethin’ Homecomin’ Parade style big.”

Pony saluted him, skating back to the door. “Left the gas by ya bike. See ya soon, Ghoulie - ‘live, please, ain’t burnin’ no one bodies this week, right?”

“Only one you’ll be burning is Party’s common sense,” Ghoul assured, returning the salute with a tense smile. He didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but he never did. 

Returning the smile, Pony turned away and out the door before Ghoul could watch the smile reach their eyes. Maybe Pony knew Ghoul was probably lying, too. 

_

“Just need’ta find some disinfectant for your eye, ‘kay?” Kobra whispered, giving a sad, reassuring smile to his companion. 

They’d both passed out the moment they found one of the dusty old bed cots - that being said, neither of them had stayed up to treat their injuries. Falling asleep with injuries was probably not the best idea, but, well, could you really blame them?

“Yeah, I know you do,” Jet answered, a sigh falling off his lips. “You need to fix your hands before you go an’ find stuff for my eye.”

Bandages had been found in one of the cupboards, but no disinfectant or ointment. And Lego-themed band-aids, which they were both absolutely planning on using. 

Kobra shook his head, but, yeah, he knew he needed to bandage his hands before he could even try to help Jet’s mangled eye. There were burns, but they weren’t infected, somehow. It was from that stupid door. He couldn’t fix Jet’s eye if his hands were burned to Hell. “I - y’know we might not find disinfectant and stuff right…? I might have to - “

“You might have to leave. I know,” Jet nodded, then suppressed a wince by clamping his jaw shut. Terrible, since Kobra noticed it. “Despite not having any way of transportation and certainly not in shape to be walking miles upon miles.” 

“Might have to.” Kobra didn’t want to, but he was dreading the notion of finding more and more empty cabinets and cupboards and storage rooms, and needing to walk back out into that blinding sun - or freezing night -, again. 

Jet leaned back, laying back down on the dusty old cot. “Yeah. And I’ll hate it and then I’ll hate waiting for you to get back.”

“Do you want me to just save time and leave now... ? There’s probably not any… - “

“I know that, too. It’s, yeah, you probably should. I can deal here,” Jet nodded. Nodding was not a good idea, but, for some reason, that was of course how he naturally communicated. 

“Are you sure?” Kobra’s forehead creased in worry - he had a right to worry, Jet thought, considering it’d been the first time in two years he’d been out of that Saintsforsaken facility. He was glad the entire thing was burning to the ground, wherever they’d left it.

“‘M sure. Got a ray gun an’ everything,” Jet gestured vaguely to over the side of the cot, despite his ray gun being in it’s holster at his waist. “I’ll be fine. Go make sure I don’t like, go permanently blind or something, okay?”

It wasn’t like he was scared he was going to end up permanently, completely blind and maybe even dead if he didn’t get this all wrapped up soon. Jet used to be the medic and the doctor of his family and his crew; he’d read textbooks. He knew how this stuff worked. 

He was terrified, honestly.

But he wasn’t going to say any of that to Kobra, who was taking deep breaths to calm himself down and convince himself that Jet was telling the truth. 

When Kobra did calm himself down, he gave Jet a crooked smile and jammed his own ray gun into its holster, raked his hair back, and nodded affirmatively to himself. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t, uh, don’t let anything bad happen, okay?”

_

Fear had a way of creating friendships, Jet thought. If it wasn’t for fear, Jet and Kobra never would’ve become friends. If it wasn’t for fear, Jet and Kobra wouldn’t be sticking around each other after having escaped.

But Kobra had no way to knowing where his brother was or where he was - Jet hoped he was faring well out there, trying to find disinfectant. He didn’t think that jacket was warm enough for the temperatures at night. -, and Jet had no idea what to do or where to go. It wasn’t like he had a mom to go back to, or a little brother to find, or a crew to track down and return to. 

So. Kobra stuck with Jet, and Jet was okay with that, but he didn’t know what he was going to do when Party found Kobra and Kobra found Party.

He just didn’t know what to do.

He sighed to himself once again, the sound making the entire hospital seem to move, as it had a tendency to make everyone think it was haunted. When you were tired enough, it seemed less haunting and more comfortable, especially compared to sleeping on a concrete floor. He’d totally forgotten what a bed felt like, even just a low-quality hospital gurney. 

But the sound Jet heard, in turn, wasn’t just the hospital shaking.

It was footsteps. 

And Kobra hadn’t been gone long enough for the sky to change colors completely, maybe a few hours or so, but it certainly wasn’t long enough to get back with any disinfectant like he said he was going to. Which meant it was someone else, it was someone potentially hostile. 

Jet immediately found his hand on his ray gun, quieting his breathing and listening closely to see if he could hear the footsteps again - and he could, but it wasn’t just a pair of footsteps.

It was a group. 

That wasn’t good. That really, really wasn’t good. Jet was a little rusty on his negotiation skills, considering where he’d been and oh, he didn’t know, he had a tendency to panic because this crew may be hostile…

There were two many footsteps echoing around for it to be a group just passing by. The Neutrals had a superstition about Blue Grave as many others did, and crews were almost always small groups of close friends.

Large crews were always the ones you had to worry about, because of the mob mentality they all shared. They were the ones that got vicious and cruel and laughed as blood was spilled, solely because they were in a group and it was normalized.

Jet had never met a crew that had more than eight people that hadn’t given him trouble in one way or another. And he heard way more than eight sets of footsteps.

Shit, shit...Should he just hide?

Yeah, considering his current physical condition he should probably hide. He froze as the cot creaked while he did his best to slide off it quietly, ignoring the flaring pain in his eye that came back full force every time he winced or tried to blink too suddenly, or habitually use both his eyes in general.

The floor croaked underneath him as well - he moved as slowly as he possibly could, army crawling to one of the large cabinets once he was on the floor and his brain was catching up with what was going on.

If he could get into the cabinet, maybe then if the crew came searching around here - the second floor -, they wouldn’t find him?

Shame the Witch wasn’t on his side, he thought with a silent curse, because that pounding of footsteps started up the stairs, up the stairs closer and closer still to where Jet was.

Well, they didn’t know that; the large crew was in the process of walking up the stairs, but the further up they went the less time Jet had to climb into that cabinet and the more likely it was that they would hear all the noise he was making due to poor structural designs. 

Closer.

Jet made it to the cabinet.

Closer.

He tried to open the cabinet quietly, with no luck. He froze. 

Their footsteps changed direction.

Jet hastily opened the cabinet just enough for him to try to pull himself in without banging anything around (it was pretty much empty).

Right outside the door.

Jet pulled the door closed as quietly as he possible could, which was impossible with this stupid hospital.

The door creaked open.

Jet held his breath, too afraid to even breath save he make a sound. The fading laughter of...maybe twelve people filled the room, all the footsteps simultaneously stopping. 

Did they know he was in here?

One pair of footsteps, this time, wandering around the room. Jet squeezed his working eye shut - he was afraid even that would give him away. 

“Thought the fuckin’ bastard said he was in here.” A voice, likely the one that belonged to the wandering footsteps, snarled. Jet could hear their spit hit the floor.

“Maybe he lied to you?” Suggested another voice. Jet liked that person. Sounded almost like a kid, and might unintentionally save his ass.

This crew didn’t seem very friendly, Jet had been right. Thank the Witch he’d hidden. 

“No. No, bastard blondie wouldn’t lie. Too cocky for that,” the leader-person scoffed, slamming down their boot.

Jet jumped automatically- he couldn’t help it!

But, still, accident and reflex or not, the cabinet squeaked with his movement. He froze, again, hoping no one noticed.

It went dead silent. Not a pair of footsteps to be heard...Until there was one pair, walking toward the cabinet, echoing across the silence of the room.

“Well, well, well…” The crew leader mock-hummed. They knew. Jet could tell by the tone alone. 

“What do we have here?” The person finished, slamming open the cabinet door - Jet tumbled out, hissing and cursing as his eye began to burn again. 

“I - I,” Jet stuttered - he was never going to be as good at talking while he was panicked like Kobra was -...and then he realized. Whoever this crew leader was?

They certainly meant Kobra when they had said ‘bastard blondie’. Jet knew that from looking at their face - as grotesque as he was sure he himself looked, it was nothing compared to the amounts of still-bleeding cuts and bruises on this person’s face.

They’d come face-to-face with the sharp side of Kobra’s switchblade, quite literally, if Jet had to make a guess. 

It also confirmed his suspicions: this crew really was trouble. Jet did his best to look around, looking at the other members of the crew.

Mostly younger teenagers, some older children...Not good. Mob mentality. But none of them were roughed up, not like their leader.

Oh, right, the leader. The leader themself wore dark blue clothes and a neon purple jacket, to match the neon purple mohawk. And...beyond the cuts and bruises on their face, was absolutely seething. At Jet. Right.  
“Pissed off the Kobra Kid, huh?” Jet blurted, instead of whatever thing that could’ve gotten him in less trouble.

He’d never seen a stranger’s eyes filled with so much loathing before. And never full-force at him.

First time for everything, Jet thought, even as he was yanked up by his jacket collar and brought up close enough for the leader’s nose to touch his and his focus was forcefully put back on his situation at hand.

“You know him?” The leader asked, growling.

Jet wished he could play it off. But he’d already mentioned Kobra by name and Kobra had clearly already said something to make them think Jet was here, so he couldn’t really lie. “‘Course I know him. How else would I know he did that to your face?”

“You think you’re all that?” The leader scoffed once again, snapping at Jet with his teeth before shoving Jet back, away from him, letting Jet’s shoulders painfully collide with the cabinet. “Some fuckin’ no-name hidin’ from a fight ‘n lookin’ like...like that?”

Time to bluff. Jet was never good at bluffing. Shit. 

Jet stood back up, posture perfect and back straight - he towered over the leader. His eye was mangled, and...while it may hurt like high Hell, right now it was at the back of his mind, and it added to his intimidating look. “I’m no ‘no name’, crash queen. I’m Jet Star. You know who I am? I’m the guy who just found Party Poison’s little brother. I’m the guy - “

Jet cut himself off for a second, letting the gaze that slipped to his ray gun in his hand speak for him. 

“I’m the guy who just got his eye shot out and got up and walked all the way here...I’m the guy who’s going to walk out of here, without a word from you. Got it?”

Silence.

Jet waited, not letting his fear show on his face. He was bigger and taller than all of the killjoys around him, but that didn’t mean he could beat them. He was outnumbered and outgunned, should they decide to shoot him.

His bluff had to work, or he was screwed. 

The leader looked him in the eye for a long moment of held breaths. 

Then grit their teeth. “I swear to Destroya, if I see either of you again -”

“You won’t do shit,” Jet forced himself to snicker, waving the leader off over his shoulder as he walked away, trying his best not to show his tenseness in the way he walked. “You’re the no name here.”

He was out of earshot before the leader could answer.

Where was he supposed to go now…? 

He was glad he’d kept all his belongings on him instead of leaving them. It wasn’t like he had food or water anyway. But Kobra was out to get disinfectant and started a switchblade fight…

And Jet had to get back to him somehow.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Pick a direction, hope he was right?

Maybe the sand would have footprints in it. Well - duh it would have footprints in it! An entire crew just came in the direction Kobra must’ve been going in, yes!

Jet grinned to himself, despite how much it hurt his eye. Common sense prevailed. 

Still alive. And wondering what the Hell Kobra was up too….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too satisfied with this chapter...But I like it anyway! Thoughts, reactions, rants?


	8. Spent Shell Casings -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison wakes up from his fever. Ghoul has news to deliver.
> 
> Kobra's sick and tired of his bad luck. The next injury it gets him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Professional Griefers.

Chapter 8

Party’s fever got worse before it got better. 

Ghoul would know, because he was the one who was with Party, and one of the only people who knew where the crash queen was. 

There was something so wrong in seeing Party Poison, the hurricane of the Desert, the boy with firetruck red hair ready to snarl and spit until he got the world bowing to him, curled in a ball and shivering to high Hell. 

Party was too cocky and arrogant and so far removed from being normal, Ghoul had almost started to believe that Party was above mundane things like getting a fever.

Or dying.

It wasn’t like the fever was going to kill him - stress fevers and burn-related fevers were nowhere near as bad as the withdrawals from the City pills, and if Party had managed that then he should be fine -, but there was something infinitely wrong on him being so...young.

He was Ghoul’s age, a year older maybe (Ghoul wasn’t good at remembering numbers, but he remembered they’d had this conversation before), but it never seemed like it. Party was just a kid, just like him, and this kid was going to flick his fingers and watch as that City burned to the ground with a lighter in hand. 

That was scary. To think of the extremes Party would go to for his brother when combined with how old he was. A teenager with not a deathwish, but a revolution in their eyes. 

Ghoul glanced over at him, from where he was sitting on the bar counter. It was even more fucked-up to remember that, yeah, Party would flood the Desert with his grief if he had to, but his brother was two years younger than him; two years younger than him and taken by BLI. Younger than Ghoul. Younger than Ghoul and -

Look, bottom line, it was unsettling as Hell, okay?

Ghoul was snapped out of his thoughts by a groan - he looked up, startled, and found Party sitting up, one hand propping him up and letting the blankets fall down, and the other rubbing his eyes.

He still looked sick, but he was sitting up. And awake. He’d been in-and-out of being delirious for a few days, but never coherent enough to sit up. “Hey. You feelin’ a bit better?”

“I feel like someone Barcode Blasted me,” Party groaned, closing his eyes, only to open them and blink at Ghoul, maybe trying to get them to feel right. His eyes were sunken, his skin too pale; that fever took a toll on him. “Wha’ happened?”

“You, dumbass extraordinaire, burned ya leg. It got infected, you came down with a fever.” Ghoul nodded toward his bandaged leg as Party threw the rest of the blankets off himself. Any fabric below the knee of his burned leg had been burned away - so at least his jeans didn’t look weirdly cut off for no reason -, so the bandages were easily seen. Show Pony had given him a few instructions on when to change the bandages and all that jazz, so they were clean right now. 

The burn actually was healing pretty well. 

Party looked perplexed, rotating his leg, like he couldn’t fathom either getting a burn or it being bandaged. “Didn’t realize...How long was I out?”

“First off, what’s the last thing you remember happenin’?” 

Party shrugged, then winced. His joints were probably not on board with this whole not moving for a few days thing and then suddenly being used to their full capacity again. “You takin’ me out of the Motel?”

Ghoul nodded. “Got it. Well, you’ve been out for a little over four days, ‘n nothing interesting has happened before you ask.”

“I feel like there was somethin’. You were...trying to tell me before I passed out, weren’t you?” Party tilted his head to the side, in confusion. Wasn’t that what had triggered his panic attack a while ago? Ironic. 

“That’s...you’re gonna need to be a little more awake for that particular thing. First I think we should get you cleaned up, and I can go over that stupid shit you pulled at that facility and how it royally screwed us over,” Ghoul shrugged, picking at his nails. It was tempting to not tell Party, to forgo his impulsive decisions and righteous rage. “Diner’s got a shower in the bathroom, don’t ask me why, I didn’t build it. An’ I brought over the Trans Am, so any of your stuff is in there.”

“Damn,” Party snickered, wincing as he got up but playing it off as reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. It was definitely because of that burn. “You’re gonna start makin’ me think you care, Ghoulie.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ghoul shooed Party off, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, if only for the sake of getting Party to take a shower sooner.

He was pretty sure some crew had gotten here before him and installed a shower, with the wonky way it worked and how oddly it was connected to...well, everything. Including the water heater. The water heater in this Diner still worked!

As for telling Party about his theories on Fallacy, for the second time...He didn’t know how he was going to bring that up, and kind-of didn’t want to. It was nice seeing Party more relaxed (not unconscious kind-of relaxed) than it was to see him enraged. It was nice to meet the boy behind the venom. 

And he knew, he knew that part of Party would disappear in less than a second when he understood what exactly Ghoul suspected. Shielded, guarded, if not stripped away from him entirely.

“It needs too, though,” Ghoul murmured to himself, watching Party walk out the door to go rummage through the trunk of the Trans Am. 

That shield had to go up. The boy behind the venom had to be stripped away again, like it had that first day they’d met, because Party would know who to go after. There was no other way that either of them would survive this.

Party started a war - really, he did. In the last few days alone, Ghoul had tuned his radio to the Station, there’d been more than ten firefights, two with fatalities. And those reports were coming in from everyone - Zone 1 through Zone 5, so far. 

Everyone. BLI usually stopped pretending to care around Zone 3 or so.

And Ghoul had an inkling what - or who - they were looking for, and why. It was a miracle the Diner hadn’t been found by now, and Ghoul was praying it stayed that way until Ghoul finally got Party in that maniacal attitude. 

The Diner didn’t have any hot water - it was enough to just have running water, if you asked Ghoul -, so Party was back after a few minutes.

Some of the colors returned to his skin, and his eyes looked less sunken; it was nice to see Party lively once more. It was weird seeing him without his jacket, but Ghoul supposed to hot pink crop top was close enough to a replacement, at this time of day. 

“So. You were going to tell me what was on you’re mind?” Party announced, raising a brow at Ghoul in the hallway before tossing his clothes at one of the booths and popping himself right next to Ghoul on the counter.

Ghoul sighed. “Yeah, and you should, like, refrain from murderin’ me, ‘kay? First off would be BLI.”

“Right, right, you said I started shit. How bad?” 

“You’ve got ten firefights and two ghosts on your conscience, and that’s just so far. They want to find you,” Ghoul scrunched his nose up in distaste - he didn’t like talking about death. The atmosphere of the room notably dropped.

Party nodded slowly, like he didn’t want to process that; not that he could be blamed for that. “You sure they know it’s me?”

“Pony told me you’re carbon count reward got amped up ta a million carbons...So I would assume yes. So far we’re in the clear in the Diner, but that ain’t gonna last long enough for them to lose interest.”

“And I don’t think you’re gonna let me get myself ghosted?” Party flashed a guilty smile to Ghoul, and Ghoul couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It was nice to see that smile again...It looked good on Party. Back to normal.

“As tempting as that might be - no. I’m too attached to you by now to not see you find your brother. Now we just have the added pressure of BLI being after your ass,” said Ghoul, rubbing his eyes. It was exhausting overthinking all of this.

Party was lucky he was the impulsive bastard out of the two of them, because Ghoul was tired of cleaning up Party’s aftermath. 

Before Party had a chance to say anything, Ghoul took a deep breath and launched right into it. “Which brings me to another point...We know BLI took ‘im, an’ we know that Fallacy Fame kid knows something about it…”

Ghoul explained his theory, carefully gauging Party’s reaction to see if he was going to blow up. 

In fact, Party didn’t say a word. He sat patiently and silently while Ghoul explained, unraveling the spool of conclusions he’d come to. The only tell that gave him away was his eyes - it was always his eyes. 

That beautiful hazel lit up, in fire, in anger, in passion.

Just what Ghoul needed to see for them to survive this. “...So, yeah. That’s what I think. That kid is all kinds of Halo Head.”

“He’s not even a Halo Head!” Party growled - suddenly, making Ghoul jump slightly. “A Halo Head is still a ‘joy. He’s just a conniving bastard with a deathwish! And he’s gonna get it!”

“Hold - hold on, wait a second.” Here’s the crucial part, Ghoul thought to himself; this was where Party made those impulsive decisions. And he’d get himself killed if he did that right now. Ghoul didn’t want Party to die. (And maybe wanted to stay alive himself, too.) “We don’t know where Fallacy is, we don’t know his crew. I know you think it’s a dead-end, but I think we should keep looking for Kobra directly, okay?”

“Of course you would! If we find Fallacy we could find Kobra!”

“That’s not how that works.” Ghoul forced himself to keep his voice calm. Party was high strung and emotional right now. Ghoul had to remember that.

But Party was also his own damn personal capable of being treated like his own damn person who made his own decisions.

Ghoul sighed to himself again. “Fallacy turned him in, yeah, and I betcha he got paid for it. Beyond that? BLI’s got no use for him to know anything. He won’t know where Kobra is.”

With the way Party instantly sobered up, deflated, Ghoul almost wanted to take it back, say it was a good lead. But that wasn’t the truth and he couldn’t figure out why he thought that. Why did he think that?

“I...yeah. Yeah, I know. Where else can we look?”

“It’s just - it’s a rumor, but…” Ghoul started, watching Party’s eyes light back with a twinge of satisfaction. “Some are sayin’ Kobra’s ‘live and well, with some other ‘joy I don’t know the name of.”

“Is there any substance to the rumors?” Party asked instantly, his firetruck red hair framing his face. He looked as young as he really was, again; an overexcited child, filled with hope. 

Ghoul shrugged. “‘Runner says some blond bastard sliced his face up, but that’s the closest I could aask ‘round -”

“Kobra’s switchblade! He doesn’t go anywhere without it. And if he’s still blond then he probably still has his switchblade and it’s probably him!”

Biting back the question on the tip of his tongue - the, why the hell would he still have his things if BLI got him? So where the hell has he been? -, Ghoul returned Party’s smile. “For your sake, I hope it is. But...On that same note, BLI must’ve heard by now, too. They could be after him.”

But Party’s excitement didn’t waver. “Yeah, yeah - the standard! We have to find him, he’s not in the City! We just have to look through the Zones, right?”

“I mean...Yeah, we have the gas, but -”

“Then let’s go! What are we still doing here?”

“The heat?” Ghoul reminded.

“...Oh. Right. Uh, can we go in a few hours, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Ghoul gently. “Few hours. Let the heat die down. And...I got somethin’ on my way back with the ‘Am just for you.”

Shushing Party before he could answer, Ghoul hopped off the counter to go search through one of the nearby booths, digging through one ugly green bag before triumphantly holding up his prize. “This! Thought you might want it.”

Party squinted at it - Ghoul’s backdrop was the sun, after all - and then a broad grin spread across his face. “Poison red hair dye, huh? Just for me?” 

“It’s the right kind, right?”

“Only one brand sells poison red anymore. Want to help me dye it before we go wreak some havoc?”

_

“It’s too calm,” Kobra blurted, looking up from running his fingers through the endless grains of sand.

“What do you mean?” Jet asked quizzically, looking up from sitting cross-legged and thumbing through an old magazine.

Kobra gestured wildly, vaguely, to everything around them. “Exactly what I said! It’s too calm. Somethin’ bad is gonna happen, I know it.”

“You always think something bad is going to happen,” Jet hummed, going back to his reading. Destroya, he had a lot to catch up on. “Why is this one different?”

“Because something bad always happens when I say somethin’ bad is gonna happen!” Kobra stressed, making more emphasis with his gestures. “And I haven’t had a good streak with those being minor inconveniences anymore!”

“So what do you want to do about it?” Well, Kobra did have a point. That kid was nothing if not bad luck.

He did get kidnapped and then supposedly experimented on and nearly died in the escape. Kobra did...not have a good streak in life going, he had to give him that. 

Kobra gave what might’ve been a noise of confusion, but what came out as a squeak. “I don’t know! I don’t know, I just know somethin’ bad is going to happen.”

“Do you think we need to move?”

“I wish we could!” Kobra huffed. “We don’t really have the supplies for that. We’re lucky we managed to make it this far.”

“If only because of your talent at gambling,” Jet said dryly. It was true. 

They’d been lucky to chance on a ring of gambling on their first day of walking - or, more accurately, Jet wandered until he found Kobra deep into working the cards of a group of ‘joys with carbons and food and water to waste. 

Kobra gave a distressed shrug, raking his hands through his blond hair. It was mangy and needed a wash and probably to be bleached again, but oh well. They didn’t exactly have bleach on hand, did they? “I should’ve played more. Destroya, Jet, I swear - something bad is going to happen!”

“We’ll just have to hope you’re wrong, okay, Kid? Stop being so pessimistic…”

_

I was right, Kobra thought to himself, oddly calm.

Even as his fight-or-flight response jumped in and he instinctively pulled out his ray gun for a fight he couldn’t win.

“You’re not going to win this.”

Kobra snarled, leveling his ray gun, aiming at the heart of the neon-green haired killjoy who was, of course, the bad thing Kobra was scared about. “Let’s just say I have the luck of the deck on my side.”

“No, you don’t,” Fallacy said, a smug smile on his lips and twisting that stupid lip ring with his tongue. “You’re outnumbered. You know that.”

“I survived one prison you put me in, didn’t I?” 

“We’re not here to fight you. Just come quietly and it won’t be an issue. No one has to get hurt.” 

Kobra glanced warily at Jet in his peripheral vision, how Jet was crouching, hand on his ray gun in his holster as he switched between looking at Kobra and looking at Fallacy and Fallacy’s crew. Kobra caught a glance of Jet’s eye - now bandaged, as were his own hands -.

They were already injured. Did he want to risk another injury…? Could they make it out of this? Fallacy had his own agenda and he knew the game he was playing, although he was a bit young and didn’t know all the pieces to his own game; Kobra didn’t know what Fallacy was planning, and he couldn’t use that to get his way out of this, could he?

“How the Hell did you even find us?” Kobra asked quietly, watching every one of that mismatched crew bristle as he lifted his ray gun ever so slightly to aim at Fallacy’s head. One shot was all it took…

And that went both ways. 

Fallacy smiled at him again. Kobra almost squeezed the trigger. His ray gun wasn’t set to stun. “Did you really think it would go unnoticed that you sliced up that ‘joys faced? You’re as recognizable as your brother and dressed twice as brightly. It wasn’t too difficult to put two-and-two together. I have to say, though, I was surprised you got out of that. How did you manage that one?”

Kobra growled. “Doesn’t matter. Leave. Now.”

“Sorry, but I can’t do that. Cut your losses now ~”

“Burn in Hell!” Kobra huffed - he quickly readjusted his aim and shot one of the crew - the one with the pastel pink hair - in the leg, spinning on his heel so he could go and run by Jet’s side. 

Jet was up and by his side in record time - Kobra looked around frantically, at the panicked faces of the young crew, to the anger and disgust on Fallacy’s.

No one knew what to do for a second.

So Kobra aimed again, quickly switching his setting to stun with expert precision and nailed one of the other members of the crew in the shoulder. Two were writhing on the ground: that left four more, including Fallacy.

That’s when the chaos erupted. 

Everyone seemed to get their bearings and the advantage of shock that Jet and Kobra had worn off as light beams raced past them, that they had to weave around - it was starting to separate them and Kobra cursed himself, ducking low and managing to hit a kid in the wrist he was holding his gun in.

“I don’t think we can win this,” Kobra hissed, hoping Jet heard. 

Kobra wasn’t going to kill these kids; he knew that, even as they shoot to kill. He’d like to keep some of his morals even living in the Desert like he did and these kids didn’t deserve it, even if Fallacy did, and they kept getting up when Kobra hit them non-fatally.

Even a ray gun blast on stun could be fatal if hit in the right place.

“I know,” Jet answered, albeit much louder as he slid out of the way of another blast, cursing all the while.

They needed cover.

They needed cover, but where, but where Kobra thought as he surveyed the area again. 

There!

It was a straight shot about twenty feet away, but it was behind Fallacy’s crew was the thing; Kobra loosely pointed to it hoping Jet would get the message.

Jet gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely noticeable amidst the chaos, now swiftly darting over to Kobra; back-to-back, right?

Back-to-back hadn’t failed them before now.

Until, of course, Kobra felt a blast graze the side of his stomach - he doubled over, only momentarily, but it was enough for a blast to go over him and hit Jet in the shoulder.

And since it hit Jet in the shoulder, he fell down, mostly out of shock and the blunt force of it, but in trying to catch his balance - he fell right into Kobra. 

“Fuck!” Kobra coughed, even as Jet scrambled up with a groan and he did the same. 

There was no more chaos. 

Kobra knew they lost. He knew they lost, and part of him didn’t even want to get up. But he sat up, at first, then dragged himself up off the ground, holding his head high to glare at Fallacy, who was shorter than him. They were surrounded. “You’re one sick bastard, you know that?”

“And you know there’s a secret price on your head for that little stunt you pulled, escaping?” Fallacy grinned. “Trust me, we’re not the only ones after you. Shouldn’t you be glad it’s us?”

“I’d rather go back to the City,” Kobra spat - quite literally. His spit landed on Fallacy’s face.

Fallacy blinked at him, slowly wiping it off, then staring at his fingers. Then a malicious glint became obvious in his eyes, to go along with the grin. “I’m sure you will be, soon. For now…”

Kobra didn’t even have the time to give a clever comeback before Fallacy had kicked behind Kobra’s knee to get leg to buckle underneath him - and while Kobra was falling Fallacy grabbed the back of his hair and slammed his knee into Kobra’s face.

Kobra choked back the scream in his throat as his nose made an odd crack, blood splattering down his face, the sand, and Fallacy’s jeans, falling forward with little idea of catching himself. 

“Kobra! Wha - ” Kobra heard Jet vaguely call from behind him, but he was cut off in the middle of what he was saying and the next thing Kobra heard was the sound of rustling fabric and a strangled shout. 

Kobra stayed where he was, not wanting to risk more of a beating. Fuck, he was outnumbered, maybe it would’ve been easier to just lead Fallacy on… 

The sound of boots stomping through the sand right in front of him brought Kobra back to the present, but he didn’t want to move his head, didn’t want to open his eyes; so of course someone forcefully grabbed his chin, yanking his head up.

Kobra pried his eyes open to find Fallacy, neon green hair barely mused from their firefight, with that same stupid grin. Freckles smattered his face; he’d be a cute kid if he wasn’t so fucked up. “Wha - what do you want?”

“You should’ve taken my advice,” Fallacy tsked, faking sympathy before dropping Kobra’s head again, letting it slam painfully against the sand before walking off - and giving him a good kick in the head to knock him out, of course.

Everything in his head flared up with pain before he passed out, blackness numbing everything in its path.

_

“Awake now, I see?” 

Kobra spit at the ground. He was doing that a lot, recently, it seemed, despite the pain that sparked up in his face from having to scrunch it up to spit. “Better off dead.”

“And with as much of an attitude, as usual, I see. You just don’t give up, do you? Even when there’s nothing left to fight for?” Fallacy asked, tilting his head. “You just don’t care, do you?”

“I’m not talking morals with a fifteen-year-old!” Kobra huffed, straining against the cuffs on his hands. 

They weren’t even basic cuffs, either - they were the high tech kind that exterminator’s nowadays carried around. He would wonder how Fallacy got ahold of those had he not been a little busy being cuffed against a wall of a shitty, dark arcade being taunted by a scene kid. 

Fallacy kicked again. “Whatever, Kobra Kid. You’ll regret this one day, i -”

“Hell yeah I will,” Kobra snapped. “When I’m explaining to my brother exactly why it took so long to get home!”

“Speaking of your brother!” Fallacy looked delighted, clapping his hands together. “He’s the whole reason for this, you know. I could care less about Better Living Industries.”

Kobra botched. “Spoken like a true traitor. You ain’t no killjoy, you’re a little boy with an obsession.”

“I might be. But it’s still your life on the line, isn’t it?” Fallacy giggled. “Your life! And your friend’s...So I’d watch your mouth. I should go check on him, actually. See you later.”

Kobra went to hiss at him, but found that useless and abandoned the idea as Fallacy’s footsteps faded from his hearing and his nose screamed in protest. 

He really could not get a day of peace, could he? He was so done with getting kidnapped. Fuck this. 

Taking a quick inventory assessment of the situation, mainly by the weight of his jacket compared to how it usually is, Kobra noted that Fallacy’s crew took his ray gun, and his switchblade wasn’t in his pocket...Fuck. They took the carbons that were in his pockets, too, which Kobra just found to be a dick move if nothing else.

The arcade - yeah, it was an arcade; tons of bad arcade games, out of work and damaged made in rows with a tacky carpet that had seen better days. Maybe the best, or the worst thing, for Kobra was that it was dimly lit by precariously hung flashlights. 

First, he needed to get out of these cuffs…

But how?

Kobra wiggled his wrists as a test. There was a little give, he could move slightly, but the cuffs held firm. 

So, it was that model. (There were the crappy exterminator handcuffs and there were the non-crappy handcuffs, okay). Great. That made his life so much easier...not the sarcasm.

There wasn’t anything around him for him to try to grab and use, so that idea was out. It was just him and whatever bright idea he had.

Kobra sighed silently to himself. BLI’s handcuffs may be high tech, don’t rely on a key for being locked or unlocked, but they were still flawed in the way all handcuffs were - he just had to….fuck! Ow! - pop his thumb out of place…

“I hate getting fuckin’ kidnapped,” Kobra muttered to himself, grinding his teeth together as he tried to get out of the handcuffs with his dislocated thumb. Just because he managed it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch!

Popping his thumb back into place was just as pleasant - Kobra had to bite back yet another shout, glad he didn’t use his dominant hand for that, pray that shaking it off would do some good, and then act like everything was fine.

You know, like what he was doing with all his injuries, he snickered to himself as he stuck next to the wall, carefully listening for anyone’s voice or footsteps. Or - the light of an exit (hopefully it wasn’t night). 

A sweet voice like honey drifted down one of the rows of games, and Kobra stopped short, not even letting himself breath. If someone saw he wasn’t there…

But the voice drifted away, and Kobra let himself relax a fraction, carefully turning a corner when he saw no indication of company.

This arcade was a maze, but judging by the height of the ceiling and where all the games were, it was just a matter of time until he found an exit; it wasn’t too big an establishment. 

“Bingo…” Kobra whispered to himself, seeing a sliver of light up ahead, too bright and intense to be artificial. 

Now, he was going to try this twenty-foot-away-straight-shot thing one more time…

Kobra held his breath, prayed one rushed prayer to the Witch, and darted to the door, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible, fully aware of the creaking it made -

And then the sound of a door opening. Not the door he was trying to get out of, but close enough…

Time seemed to slow down. Kobra stopped caring for stealth as he fumbled to open the door, - thank Destroya it wasn’t locked -, his burned hands protesting despite him, you know, dislocating his thumb earlier. 

He wasn’t breathing as he ran out of the Arcade, letting the door fall shut on its own accord and praying that no one noticed.

The Desert was as still as Kobra as he waited for someone to open the door…

Stay.

Perfectly.

Still.

The door stayed shut as Kobra hesitantly let out his breath; he rushed around the building to do a once-over as he tried to slow his heartbeat.

And find the bikes. 

Kobra grinned; he was a born motorbaby, and none of these stupidly dirty bikes was anything like his prized 27, but it’d have to do, he thought, rushing over to see which was the oldest model - and easiest to hotwire. 

He knew he was leaving Jet.

He knew he wasn’t done here, at this Arcade. 

But Kobra didn’t let any of his thoughts overtake him as he heard the quiet hum of a stolen model of Battery City’s sound-efficient motorbikes come to life at his touch.

He was gone before even the wind could catch up to him. 

Coming back to find Jet would be difficult, but...Not if it was just him. Not if he found Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! Yet another chapter finished! It's a bit short for Art & Gasoline, but, well...you'll see eventually. What do you think?


	9. Tear Apart All Of My Insides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra knows his priorities, but he can't focus - maybe it's worse when he can.
> 
> Party didn't think his reunion was going to be as bloody as this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Major blood and violence tw for this!

For having bright red hair, Party Poison was proving notoriously difficult to find.

The worst part? Kobra couldn’t go walk out into a crowd of people, or announce it over the airwaves, that he needed to find Party, that he needed to find his brother and he needed to find him now. 

That might get him his brother, but it would also put attention on him, and with more attention came more time-wasting and he didn’t have the time to dawdle. Kobra had two missions, and they each went hand-in-hand: Find Party, and then rescue Jet.

Simple, right? Kobra didn’t have the patience to keep idle for more than three minutes at this point. It had been a day or so; much too long in Kobra’s mind.

The longer Kobra had to think, the angrier he got, and he didn’t know if that was helpful or harmful at this point. 

He was a motorbaby at heart; speed ran through his veins and his soul was kept in the roar of an engine. It cleared his head, it was something familiar for once in this mess of his life, it was home and he could think when he was home.

So, with the open road in front of him, stolen sunglasses the only thing keeping the sand out of his eyes, Kobra focused on clearing his head, focusing on the situation at hand and zeroing in on what needed to happen. That’s what Party had him do, anyway, when life got too much for him to handle. 

What he knew: finding Party was proving impossible, his hands Hurt like hell from the burns that were never technically bandaged correctly (but didn’t get infected, not like Jet’s eye), Fallacy Fame and his band of miscreants had Jet, and he didn’t have his switchblade nor a ray gun.

Basically, he was defenseless and not in the shape to be playing hero. So of course he was going to play lone hero. 

There wasn’t enough time - nor gas on this stolen bike - to find Party if Kobra didn’t miraculously find him within the next hour. Jet was in trouble, and that was his priority: Help Jet.

He’d assumed he could enlist the help of his brother to save Jet’s ass; without that help, he didn’t know what to do…

Well, that was a lie. He knew what he could do, Kobra just knew it was a bad decision that would likely end up with him dead somewhere on Route Guano, but at the moment it was sounding more and more like his only option. What else could he do?

First step? Go back. 

Actually, Kobra thought to himself in a rush, face going pink even though there was no one that could’ve possibly heard his thoughts, it was probably best to go snag a ray gun and maybe a water bottle and definitely a knife somewhere.

The problem with that was he didn’t have any carbons. For gas or otherwise.

Now, he wasn’t used to having sticky fingers, but this bike was already stolen and so were the sunglasses keeping him from going blind (he’d snagged them from some out-of-the-way vendor he passed a few hours ago), so it was acceptable in this situation, right?

Either way, it was the Zones, and stealing a few things he needed to stay alive wasn’t the worst thing he could do. Stealing to survive was different from stealing to steal.

Besides, he thought, squinting into the distance and hoping to Destroya what he saw up ahead wasn’t a heat mirage and was instead a Neutral town, anything goes in the Zones. 

Kobra was out of practice in the art of thievery, he found, from how shaky and uncoordinated he was. 

It was a Neutral town, he’d been right. He was already a killjoy; already a shock of neon colors in the middle of a sensibly-colored town, already something out-of-the-ordinary and bound to draw attention, but he was on a time-frame here and didn’t have the time to search around for anything that made him look less conspicuous when he already had a mop of bleach blond hair on his head. 

Neutral towns - most didn’t have their own Market, not anything like the migrating Market that moved from Outer Zone to Outer Zone by a few of the more nomadic Neutrals, but they did have tents set up that served as decently large stores.

How they moved them around, Kobra didn’t know, but that wasn’t exactly his focused as he browsed the shelves, not missing the stares of a passerby who wasn’t used to seeing killjoys.

Some Neutrals welcomed killjoys, others didn’t, and most of the time it was a toss-up which town was which, as Kobra and Party had never in their lives kept track of who was where at what time until it directly benefited them. 

Hopefully, this was as Killjoy friendly town; if not, well, Kobra didn’t think him stuffing a few batteries into his pockets was going to go down very well if anyone noticed. 

Killjoy with a gun? ‘Joys could be trigger happy, and you stayed away, no matter what they do if you don’t have a ray gun yourself.

Killjoy without a gun? You can spot them straight away because every killjoy has an ego complex where they need to show off their firearm. You did whatever the Hell you wanted, then, and Kobra didn’t have a gun (what else would he be swiping extra batteries off the shelf for?)

“Hey. Um -”

Kobra spun on his heel quicker than he thought possible, hand instinctively going to his empty thigh holster. In the second it took for him to realize his gun wasn’t there, he had a hand to the throat of whoever was talking to him, barely registering what the person themself looked like. “What do you want?”

The person looked at him with startled eyes, with a little fear, but tried their best to hide it. Kobra slowly let his hand drop. He was high-strung, wasn’t he? “I was, um, I was going to ask if you needed help, dude...You look like you need it.”

“And what could you help me with?” Kobra asked, patience already wearing thin, as he didn’t have the time for this. Other people’s help was always unreliable in times like these, and Kobra needed to be out of here as soon as possible. 

The person was shaking. Fuck, Kobra needed to tone it down. They nodded vaguely in the direction of Kobra’s empty holster. “Um...You, uh - Killjoys carry guns. You need one, right?”

“Why? You got one?”

“If - if -”

“Spit it out already!” Kobra huffed, crossing his arms defensively.

The person flinched violently. Did Kobra really come off as that intimidating? He didn’t think so, he was a bit too scrawny and gangly for that, but he’s certainly getting the impression from the wide-eyes of the brunette in front of him, Destroya help them. “I have a gun you could use.”

“And what’s the price?”

“No - no price, I mean.” The person shook their head violently along with their words, stringy, greasy brown hair flying around their face. Kobra remembered when Party’s hair was like that, all stringy and weird and weird-greasy (there was a difference between normal greasy and that kind of greasy, okay). “Just, um...Could I get your autograph?”

If Kobra looked baffled, it was because he was. “My - my what? And you realize I’ll need to keep that ray gun, right? You won’t be getting it back?”

The person nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, I know, but - but you’re the - the Kobra Kid and, and -”

“Sure. Yeah, sure, just, I need to get out of here as soon as possible, okay?” Kobra answered, finally, head swimming over the idea of someone wanting him to write his name on something and thing it had any worth. “D’ya have a pen or somethin’ I can write on? And when can you have that ray gun? Who are you, anyway?”

“Um - the name’s...well, I don’t know yet. Everyone’s calling him Glitter for now,” the person babbled, scrambling through their jean pockets for what Kobra saw as a pen as they found it, and an unfinished white patch of Saturn from their jacket pocket. As far as Kobra could see, there was absolutely no glitter on Glitter, but then again, Kobra wasn’t exactly a cobra, was he? “And - and, um, its just in the glove compartment, if you give me only a few moments…”

Kobra scrawled his name ‘The Kobra Kid!’ with too-loopy o’s and an exaggerated exclamation point on the half-finished patch, where Glitter said he could before they’d disappeared out of the tent.

Turning the patch over and over in his hands, Kobra felt as though this debacle was taking longer than it was. There was no way to randomly acquire a ray gun like that, and seeing as it had been his biggest problem as of five minutes ago, Kobra was starting to think he got incredibly lucky. 

Luck was on his side, for once, he thought with a snicker to himself as Glitter rushed back in, a bit clumsy and uncoordinated, a shock of white against their dark jacket and dark skin - the ray gun. Destroya, Kobra needed to check himself a bit more if people were actually starting to know his name.

“Wait, kid,” Kobra started slowly as he handed them the Saturn patch, his fingers not quite letting it go even as Glitter tried to take it back. “How do you know my name?”

Glitter gaped at him. It was not the most obvious thing in the world, thank you very much. “Who doesn’t! You and - you n’ Party Poison, everyone knows you! ‘N Party Poison’s been on the airwaves lookin’ for you. Or at least, he was, like, a week ago, and everyone's wonderin’ where you are!”

“So you find me, and you...want my autograph?”

“Well - well, yeah,” Glitter said, somewhat self-consciously now, giving Kobra a smile.

Kobra finally let go of the Saturn patch, nodding, and Glitter handed him the ray gun. The weight was familiar, albeit it felt ever-so-slightly off to him. Maybe it was the weight being slightly lighter than normal, no paint coating the outside of the gun. “Thank you, really.”

A toothy grin. “No - no, thank you! None of my friends are gonna believe this!”

With a strained smile, Kobra waited until Glitter ran out, all excited with the Saturn patch clutched tightly in their hands.

The second they were gone, Kobra shoved the ray gun into his holster, stopping momentarily to rub his eyes. Alright, now he had a ray gun - what about a knife?

Scanning his eyes over the rest of the supplies in the decently-sized tent, Kobra saw some sitting on a shelf by the register. Time to channel the spirit of his brother, 

Kobra gave a warm smile to the attendant, asking about the pricing of something he’d passed that didn’t have a label - kitchen utensils, he thought; to see them you had to peer in the opposite direction of the knives on the shelf.

Keeping up idle, pretend conversation was not Kobra’s strong suit. But he managed to keep the attendant’s attention on the utensils and not him casually swiping one of the knives off the shelf. It didn’t have the same weight as his switchblade and the way the hilt was shaped wasn’t right to his hand, but he managed to keep the attendant talking as he dropped it into his jacket pocket.

Ray gun, check. Knife, check. 

Fear pulsing through his veins as he realized now that he had what he needed there was no reason for him to not go back to the Arcade and save Jet already, check.

With a “thanks, dude,” as chills passed down his spine with the thought of his to-do list, Kobra turned to leave. Show time, right? 

Fallacy Fame was a pretentious, condescending know-it-all, but Kobra already knew that would be his downfall: he was cocky, he thought he knew what Kobra was going to do.

No doubt Fallacy already assumed Kobra was going to circle back to save Jet. No doubt Fallacy already assumed he was going to try to find Party. No doubt Fallacy was overly confident he could predict what Kobra’s next move was.

Except, Kobra knew he was walking into a trap.

Except, Kobra couldn’t find Party, so he was going solo.

Except, Kobra didn’t even know what his next move was. 

The gas gauge was dangerous low, Kobra sighed to himself as his eyes flickered over it, the sand dunes his backdrop as the speedometer kept grinning at him.

The Arcade, he’d found, was in Zone 2. The Neutral town he’d been in was Eastern Zone 3, bordering on East Zone 2. It wouldn’t be too much of a drive back to the Arcade, and something about that made Kobra shake, his hands white from how tightly he was clutching the handlebars. 

Fallacy didn’t scare him. Fallacy was just a kid who thought he was larger-than-life, he was a kid who was dabbling in things he didn’t understand. Or maybe he did. It took skill and more than reckless abandon to manage to rope a crew into kidnapping, well, anyone, let alone Kobra and Jet. It took more than a spark of childish anger to go so far as to turn another killjoy into BLI like Fallacy had.

But that’s what Fallacy was. A child playing for power. A child who thought he knew everything - and Kobra was seventeen, only a few years older, yes, but the difference was Kobra never tried to play for power.

Kobra found his reputation in switchblade fights and race tracks and his brother’s protector, he never played for power. But he knew people who had. He knew people who had, and they crashed, and they burned, and it was ironic how many crash queens made their way into Kobra’s life, wasn’t it?

Going back to the Arcade was useless. 

Kobra realized that with a curse; Fallacy was smarter than he looked, and Kobra hated how much he had to try to be in Fallacy’s twisted head to figure this all out, and he couldn’t keep himself a target in the Arcade, on the off-chance Kobra did manage to gain more help than just his brother. 

How ill-fitting an assumption.

So where would Fallacy go? And would he go with that rotten crew of his, take Jet with him?

This was too much work for Kobra. He wasn’t in the right headspace to think, too much panic mixing with anxiety mixing with whatever the Hell the feeling in the back of his mind that screamed static at him was. 

With all the different ideas and theories and murder fantasies swirling around in his head, ithard to pinpoint where he was going or if he was just wasting gas to think, like he did sometimes when he was mad at Party. 

Wait, if Fallacy did expect him to go after him, and he did move locations (Kobra was sure he’d done that, at the least), wouldn’t he move somewhere Kobra would be able to pinpoint, if he wanted Kobra to find him? 

So where would that be?

The Crash Track out in Zone 6 was the easiest to think of; Kobra was always out there, always racing, but it was so out in the open and out of the way that it wasn’t ideal for anything other than open road racing. 

Beyond that, there was Roulette Road - another racing venue, in Zone 2 as they were in, so it made it an ideal candidate, but it was always packed full of dirty racers and always, always had a hidden agenda, and upsetting that agenda with drama (like Fallacy would) would not end well for anyone. So that was out.

Kobra didn’t go many places, he needed to get a life, he realized with a snort, but kept going through his list.

Somewhere out of the way, but easy to get to, but didn’t have much foot traffic in or near it to make sure no one knew what was going on.

Somewhere that Fallacy would know Kobra knew, and he knew Kobra from Party’s Skate Asylum roller derby games, so where had Kobra blabbed about going?

He didn’t talk to anyone!

How was he supposed to figure this out if he never talked to anyone and he didn’t go anywhere? This would be so much easier if he had an obvious social life, but he didn’t, and now apparently he was going to pay for it in frustration and exhaustion.

Sleep came later, sleep came after he rescued Jet and put a burning hole through Fallacy fuckin’ Fame’s forehead, but he was still exhausted and soon the wind wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes open with its incessant battering. 

Wait.

Wait a second, there was one place Kobra remembered going on a trip with Party, and he’d planned to go back to the Crash Track to see if Cherri had any spare candles, but he’d gotten guilt-tripped by Party to go to Skate Asylum for a few hours.

Kobra and Party had gone on a trip to a church down in one 4 out of Party’s curiosity about religion or whatever. His curiosity had never been satiated by the trip, though the church had freaked Kobra out more than he’d like to admit.

Ghost City; a network of abandoned churches throughout Zone 4. 

Considering Kobra didn’t go to Skate Asylum all too much and ever-rarely talked while he was there, there was more than a large chance Fallacy wanted him to go to Ghost City.

Changing directions with a flare of dramatics, Kobra grinned, forcing himself to stop shaking as best he could. He barely had enough gas to get to Zone 4, and with the speed he was going maybe not even that, but that didn’t matter, not right now, because Kobra had a sense of direction and he oh-so-rarely had that these days. 

_

Ghost City was all throughout the West side of Zone 4, but the most known part of it was the cathedral closest to Route Guano. The cathedral was double the size of most of the churches, easy, and maybe it was beautiful once, but it wasn’t any longer.

Time and warfare had taken its toll on it. All the stained glass that had previously adorned the windows were blown out, lost to the sand, and half of the grand arches had collapsed, caving parts of the roof in on itself. 

Beyond that, the sand bowed to no God, creeping up on the sides of the building, eating away at what the wind hadn’t already ruined. Destruction was a beautiful thing, but destruction like this was more malice, more hatred, in Kobra’s mind, finally getting its revenge. And revenge it had, if any passing soul noticed the discrepant state of the place of worship. 

Kobra hummed, a tune long forgotten to his mind’s eye, while kicking up the kickstand of the glossy white bike (what crew didn’t paint their bikes?), sizing up the cathedral out of his peripheral vision, noticing the single, lone while motorbike already parked a few feet off a particularly large sand dune.

There was no way to map out possible hiding places and different exits when Kobra only had foggy memories of the one time he’d been there, but he tried to no avail. Trading the handlebars for the white ray gun, Kobra’s knuckles were still white.

He wasn’t shaking anymore. It wasn’t because he wasn’t scared, no, it was more like something snapped in his head, something that made him focus on what he was doing, where he was, and what his objectives were. 

The entrance was the obvious way to, well, enter. The blown-out windows were more inconvenient for him, and beyond that, Fallacy was smart enough to make sure Kobra didn’t sneak in. 

The entrance it was. 

The red of his jacket did nothing to hide him against the harsh yellow of the sand, but Kobra didn’t have the advantage of stealth in the first place.

He didn’t know what his plans beyond on walking in were, other than praying to Destroya he managed to survive through the night. It was becoming a traditional prayer by now. 

Ambling toward the cathedral was no use, providing nothing other than more time for Kobra to wonder what all he was getting himself into, so Kobra took to darting across the sand, nimbly tripping over a small sand hill, as you do.

Kobra cursed under his breath and hoped no one noticed his fall, picking himself up and dusting the sand off his ray gun, dashing toward the door. 

Alright. Here goes… Kobra squeezed his eyes shut, made another short prayer, and threw the doors wide open. 

It was then he opened his eyes, prepared for a laser blast to the chest, ready to dodge and return fire. 

What greeted him?

Blood.

Kobra blinked, but all the red in his vision stayed, some blackened and dried, some shining red, some a mixture of brown and red.

His eyes strayed from body, to body, to body, to - eleven, by his count. Eleven...And through the matted plasma, he saw masks, color fading and dripping into that red, but undeniably colorful, undeniably killjoy.

And in the center of it all, neon green hair and a maniacal grin, staring dead into Kobra’s eyes, calmly sitting on his knees. 

“What did you do?” Kobra hissed, shock and disgust coating the back of his tongue, the bile rising in his throat. 

Slowly, Fallacy held his arm out, dropping a knife that clattered onto the floor, the sound echoing in the grand hall with no regard for Kobra’s flinch. 

It wasn’t just any knife, Kobra realized with the bile rising further in his throat, unable to push it back any longer - he gagged, unceremoniously retching into a pew next to him. That was his knife. That was his switchblade - he could tell by the shock of green on the bottom, the snake he carved and painted into everything he owned.

Other than that it was coated in blood, as was Fallacy, the liquid splattering his jacket and hair, across the freckles one might call cute if they didn’t know the monster they belonged to. When he spoke, he drawled, drinking in Kobra’s horror. “Fame killed the Tumbleweeds!”

Kobra blinked, his brain jumping and scrambling to find a meaning. It didn’t, but his body recognized danger, and he finally got the common sense to hold his gun up, leveling it with Fallacy’s forehead. Why was he just sitting there? “What? That makes no sense!” 

“Fame killed the Tumbleweeds,” Fallacy repeated, a whisper. Kobra wanted to say he was crazy. This wasn’t crazy. This wasn’t even a boy snapping. This was Fallacy Fame, at his worst. “They do so love to let things get to their heads, don’t they? Being better than killjoys. Than ‘Halls. Think they can do anything, say anything to anyone they want. Their fame was their downfall, you realize? Fame killed the Tumbleweeds.”

“Your name is ironic, then, isn’t it?” Kobra snapped, flipping his ray gun setting off stun. “Fallacy Fame. Who were they?”

You couldn’t take a mask or gun to the Mailbox and not know who it belongs to. Kobra wasn’t taking empty masks with him. 

Fallacy tsked, rising off his knees, not bothering to wipe any of the blood off him. “I could tell you, see how long it takes you to blast right through my head. Or, I could refuse, see how well you stick to your Desert superstition.”

“Tell me, Fallacy,” Kobra snapped, though his voice was too calm for his comfort. He should still be disgusted at his volatile scenario. The taste of bile still in his mouth said he was, but he refused to look at the bodies.

“Tumbleweeds, of course. I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to get here. I put together this whole arrangement...But you came alone.” Fallacy was frowning - Kobra returned it with a scowl.

He needed to know those names, dammit. To tell their crews and to bring to the Mailbox or give the masks to someone who had the right to. 

“Who were they?” Kobra repeated, a broken record at this point.

“I was hoping you’d have your brother with you,” Fallacy sighed theatrically, swiping green hair out of his face. Kobra readjusted his aim accordingly. “He’s the real fun, you know. Not you. You’re...replaceable.”

“I’m the Kobra Kid,” Kobra said slowly, believing the words down to the bottom of his soul. Then, he repeated once more. “Who were they?”

“Should have brought your brother. He would know, the poison that he is,” Fallacy laughed, a light and lilting sound. Didn’t belong to someone so...So...Fallacy. “Shame to put this entire thing to waste...Look a little closer, you might recognize some.”

Kobra wasn’t going to give Fallacy the satisfaction.

But...He really needed to know those names.

Forcing a glance toward some of the bodies, the color from their bodies long faded, Kobra searched around for anything he could recognize. His eyes settled on a turquoise-and-red bandanna, a distinct lily drawn in fading sharpie across it, smattered in dried blood in the shape of fingerprints.

Temper Tantrum, her name was. 

Temper Tantrum had stolen Party’s MouseKat helmet, back when they were newer to the Desert, tried to sell it in the Lobby. But how did Fallacy know about that…? And why was she dead?

“You’ll find a cast of familiar faces, I’m sure,” said Fallacy, a smirk on his lips as Kobra startled, looking up. “Not your cast. That’s why I was hoping Party Poison would be here, see, this is for him.”

“You killed - you killed nearly a dozen people, for...my brother?” If there was horror showing in Kobra’s voice, it was more than genuine. 

Fallacy beamed at him like Kobra had finally decrypted some code or secret. “Yes! These people - they’ve all wronged him! It was only fair they get what they deserve.”

Kobra wanted to cry. The sensation was sneaking up on him and he forced it back down, forced himself to look Fallacy in the eye, forced himself to put more pressure on the trigger, but not enough for it to go off. He needed those names. “Why? Why would you do that? And if you care about my brother so much, why did you - why did you turn me in to Better Living?”

“I told you,” Fallacy scoffed, offended, going to cross his arms and finding his blood slick hand slipped and he retried. “You’re replaceable. A liability, really, prone to anger and mood swings as you are.”

“Have you even met Party? That’s his entire personality!”

“But Part is important, that’s the difference. You...are not. So I got rid of you. It’s ridiculous that you came back, really, but I’ve adjusted rather well for it, no?”

“You’re not right in the head. Just tell me the names, and we can sort this out.” Pretending to be calm and collected was taking a toll on Kobra. He was starting to shake again, though less fear and more adrenaline pulsing through his system. 

“The only name I’ll tell you is…” Fallacy mock-gasped - uncrossing his arms to drum his fingers on his jeans, a bad rendition of a drum roll. “Jet Star.”

Kobra tried - 

“Ah! Ah ah, calm down, now. He’s not in this mess. He’s never even met Party. But you...you needed to be kept in line. A wildcard, you are, you know that, right? Jet Star isn’t here. He is, however, back at the Arcade, but you thought I’d bring my entire crew out here, didn’t you? I’m sure you came all this way to rescue him. Sorry for the inconvenience, really.”

“I didn’t bring Poison. All of - “ Kobra gestured wildly with his ray gun to the massacre around them. “- This was a waste! And you think I’m going to let you live? After all that?”

“I think you talk just enough to let me.,” Fallacy smiled sweetly. For the second time, the pressure on the white ray gun increased a fraction as Kobra corrected his aim.

“Says the murderer who -”

A chorus of “Destroya, Destroya, -”, “What did he DO?” and “Kobra!” echoed throughout the cathedral before Kobra could finish his sentence.

It was neither Fallacy or Kobra…

Kobra’s head instinctively turned to see who was calling his name - and when he did, he almost forgot he was pointing a gun at a murderer. 

It was Party. It was the same firetruck red hair, the same yellow domino mask and blue jacket. There were two others with him, but Kobra didn’t examine them for too long or allow himself to be shocked at Party’s appearance as he put his attention back on Fallacy, who seemed absolutely delighted.

“He did make it! Oh, lovely, Party Poison!”

“Fallacy,” Party spat - only then did it appear to dawn on Poison the nature of the situation. To his credit, he didn’t vomit like Kobra had. “What - what the HELL?”

“See any familiar faces?” Fallacy asked, a genuinely bright spark to his eye. Kobra nearly vomited again. “You see?”

“He won’t tell me their names,” Kobra informed, monotone, glaring at Fallacy.

“Party knows them - Party knows them, doesn’t he? Don’t you?”

Party didn’t answer, staring wide-eyed at the carnage around him. His ray gun sat in his thigh holster, untouched, and Kobra wanted to scream at him, tell him now was not the time to go unfocused. 

The girl by Party’s left side answered instead. She had cotton candy pink hair in a braid, Kobra noted, but a streak of neon green was in the front. “Fal - Fallacy, what did...what did you do?”

“What I needed to, Blush. Haven’t you been listening?” Fallacy talked with his hands, throwing them out into lazily gesturing at Party. “At all, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t think you’d go this far...Would ever go this far...Dear Destroya, Fallacy, what did you do?”

“A favor!” Fallacy snapped for the first time. “I did a favor! What’s so wrong with that to you people?”

The person next to Party had already lifted his own gun and leveled it at Fallacy - smart one, that one. Kobra filed away the black hair and snarl. “That’s sick. Why aren’t you dead yet?”

“I know where this one’s,” Fallacy said, pointing at Kobra, “friend is. And he needs that.”

“You said you never moved him from the Arcade! I heard you!”

Fallacy put a grin on his face that would rival even an exterminator’s. “But you said it yourself - I’m sick, right? Who knows if I’m lying?”

“It’s a bluff,” Party identified slowly, chancing a glance at Kobra before looking back to Party. “It’s a bluff. Your friend is...Your friend is wherever Fallacy said he was.”

“Just like these Tumbleweeds are all just on runs? Oh, you’re silly! I do love your sense of humor. No, he’s not. Or maybe he is? You don’t know. But on the off-chance I am lying and you still shoot me...Who’s going to tell you where he is? Or will Jet Star just die alone?”

“I know where you put him,” the girl, Blush, snarled, a trembling hand grasping the ray gun at her side but not pulling it out. “I can tell them.”

“Shame you turned traitor, isn’t it? But you left right after I told you my plan...Original plan for today, at least, and not the modified one. Who’s to say you do know the truth?”

“It’s just a bluff and we’re calling it!” 

Kobra silently stepped forward - just a small, small step, but closer to Fallacy. Fallacy didn’t notice. He took another experimental step. 

Shooting Fallacy was clearly not a thing that was happening tonight, it seems, with how long they’ve been at a standstill, nothing being cleared up by Fallacy’s delusional rantings. 

“No, you’re hoping I’m bluffing, hoping you’re right, but that seed of doubt is there, and it’ll blossom, and you won’t shoot me, will you?” Good question, Fallacy.

The answer was no, Kobra thought, as he started into a ran, too quick for Fallacy to react, using his own momentum to kick off the ground when he was close enough, bringing Fallacy down with him as he fell back to the ground.

“Bluff’s been called,” Kobra snarled, one arm over Fallacy’s neck as he fumbled around his pockets to find his stolen knife.

When he’d dug it out, Kobra held it with just enough force on Fallacy’s neck - replacing his arm, which he used to pin Fallacy’s other arm down, that his leg wasn’t holding - to draw blood. 

“He’s not at the Arcade,” Fallacy panted, staring up at Kobra with panicked eyes. His delusion was falling apart, his big plan, and Kobra grinned, a sick satisfaction at the realization showing on Fallacy’s face. “He’s not - he’s not there.”

“Then where is he?” Kobra was deathly calm, something overtaking his system as he applied just that much pressure to Fallacy’s neck with the knife, until Fallacy was gasping in pain. “Where’s Jet?’

“I don’t - I don’t - I told Honey to take care of it, I don’t -”

“You better have an adequate answer for me!” A drop of smeared blood was on Kobra’s knuckle. Despite his disgust to all the blood around him, this, this he didn’t mind. 

“I don’t know!” Fallacy screamed.

Before Kobra could ask again - or slice Fallacy’s throat -, there was a hand on his shoulder, taking his attention.

It was Party, looking down at them both with a clenched jaw. “Kobra, Kobra, Blush can help with finding...your friend, or whoever. But - this is not the way to go. We have to dig them graves and...I have more questions for him.”

It was carefully worded, each syllable precisely picked.

Party only did that when…

Was he scared? Of Kobra?

Kobra suddenly pulled back, scrambling off Fallacy and throwing the knife elsewhere but not giving a reason why as he looked at his brother in the eye. What came over him? “I...I...fine. Fine, fine...We can, we can start digging the graves. Someone else has to watch him.”

Because Kobra couldn’t. He could barely look Party in the eye, let alone down at Fallacy, down at the blood dotting his neck. 

Party nodded, looking behind Kobra but not taking his attention off him completely. His voice was shaky. “Ghoulie! In the back’a the Trans Am, there should be a shovel back there somewhere, okay? Can you get it? And - I - I can take care of Fallacy for the moment. Blush, you’re with me.”

“What about me?” Kobra asked, but most of him wasn’t there, was watching this like an out-of-body experience. He looked so...there was something in Kobra’s own expression, a mix of horror and confusion, and he didn’t know how to react to it. “What do you want me to do?”

“Start, start, um, start gathering jackets and masks. Put them in the backseat when you’re done.” Party looked confused as to why Kobra would even ask that. Kobra couldn’t figure out why. “And...and, um, try to… Try not to get too much blood on yourself.”

There was a second meaning to that, one Party had added, Kobra could identify that, but he couldn’t identify what. He hated that he couldn't identify it. “Okay. Okay, thanks.”

The tension in the cathedral hadn’t died. 

_

“I need a break,” Kobra announced dully, quietly, kicking up some sand as he looked down.

Party nodded silently and waited until his little brother walked away, waited until he was out of sight, to breathe a sigh of relief, before throwing his shovel down into the ground yet again, another shovelful of sand to add to the growing pile. “He’s…”

“This is the brother we’ve been lookin’ for, huh?” Ghoul said, but it had an empty lilt to it, so unlike him that Party wanted to ask what was wrong, but he knew what was wrong. “Thought he’d be...less scrawny, I dunno.”

It was barely a joke. Party tried to laugh anyway. It came out, but barely. “Yeah. That’s Kobra. Blond bastard, like that rumor said he was.”

“Wish I didn’t meet ‘im under these...uh, circumstances.”

“You mean, you wish your first impression of him was him, and not the massacre around him, committed by the guy he was about to murder?”

“Yeah. That. Are we really trusting Blush to make sure he doesn’t escape?”

“She already went out of her way to find us...That’s something, at least, and she acted out against him. I think so.”

“And if she proves untrustworthy?”

“Something tells me nothing’s going to stop Kobra from murdering him, if so.”

Whatever that something was, it was right, but Party would be too shaken to notice anything...odd, that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And with that, chapter nine comes to an end! Fame killed the tumbleweeds indeed, and. Well. Foreshadow is a bitch, ain't it? Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a comment maybe?


	10. By The Time You're Hearing This I'll Already Be Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun Ghoul makes a promise, and he'll keep it if it's the last thing he does.
> 
> Kobra Kid always did like keeping something familiar with him.

“We need to go find Jet,” Kobra said, swiping his bloody blond hair out of his face, throwing his own shovel down into the sand.

All but one of the Tumbleweeds had been buried already, and Party was currently collecting the mask, jacket, and gun of one of the particularly gruesome bodies; yet another person he knew. He’d originally told Kobra to collect the jackets and such, but at some point they’d traded places. 

Ghoul winced silently, looking over at the scrawny killjoy. Kobra was...not what he expected. Or maybe what he hadn’t expected was the massacre he stepped into, the near-execution he’d almost witnessed. 

“Kobra,” Party said, strained; Ghoul could see it in the tenseness of his entire body, how on edge he was. Startled. Scared, maybe, but not that Party could ever admit to that. “Kobra, we need to finish this, and - and you need to get some rest. Destroya, when was the last time you slept? Got your wounds treated? Eaten a decent meal? Have you drank enough water?”

“I’ve had the same amount of sleep, treatment, food, and water as Jet,” Kobra snapped; his gaze turned to Party with a burning intensity and there was a snarl on his face.

This kid was a little pretentious, Ghoul thought. Then again, didn’t he have a right to be frustrated and snappy? He did just witness a massacre and almost slit someone’s throat and then find out said person was let go…

Yeah, so, that was a thing.

Ember Blush disappeared. She disappeared with Fallacy, or so they assumed, because both were unaccounted for. It had been a frustrating night, to put everything lightly. Ghoul was hoping that when Kobra broke down, it wasn’t the same way as Party, because he didn’t know if he could keep the Desert intact if that happened. 

“You can’t save anyone if you can’t stand up,” Party pointed out. Ghoul knew it came from a place of genuine concern, but he grimaced to himself nonetheless; Party couldn’t have sounded more condescending if he actively tried. 

Kobra glanced down at his jeans - dirty, caked in sand and blackened blood, the fabric over hisknees ripped though you couldn’t see the skin from all the stuff on it. Then, he glanced back up to Party, eyes a soulless sort-of cold. The complete opposite of Party’s anger. “I do believe I can stand up. We need to save Jet. I came here to find him, not you, if you don’t recall.”

If Party was hurt, he didn’t show it beyond the bristle of his shoulders. The tension was palpable. “Your system is running on adrenaline. You’re gonna crash. You need sleep and care before you need to go on another suicide mission.”

“None of my suicide missions have gotten me caught yet,” said Kobra. His arms were crossed, but his voice was too monotone. Ghoul didn’t know how he managed it; one moment he’d been… he looked like an angel of death in a scene of carnage and in the next, right now, he was completely unaffected by it all. 

Was that a good thing?

Party notably stiffened, but no one pointed it out as he gently placed the last mask in the trunk of the Trans Am. “They will one of these days. I just got you back, I’m not losing you again. Please. Just give it one day, okay?”

“I can’t give it a day. A day could mean Jet is dead.” The deathly calm thing wasn’t working for him. At least, Ghoul didn’t think it was, because it made him seem more jaded and angry than it did stubborn. 

Kobra must be jaded and angry, though, from what he’d gone through this past month, and then the hell of a reunion he just had. Party couldn’t even look relieved because he found his brother it was so bad. 

“He’s survived so far,” Party shot back - and that was a low blow, really, it was, but Ghoul was starting to think he sounded like a sports commentator in his own head and he should stop narrating arguments that weren’t his. 

“Just give it one day,” Ghoul blurted. It wasn’t like his word held any sway - in fact, in Party couldn’t convince Kobra to take just one night off his manhunt, there was no way in Hell Ghoul would be able to. They barely knew each other. “One day. Not even a day. Just long enough for you to get some skeeo and for us to regroup and make a game plan. And then we go after your friend and get the bastards who did it for him, eh?”

“Fallacy’s not going back to them,” Kobra murmured under his breath, losing the defensive stance and dropping his arms to his sides. “He wouldn’t. But...they have Jet.”

Party nodded encouragingly. “They do. And we can’t take on an entire crew guns blazing with no game plan and you sleep deprived to the Fog Line and back. Sleep on the way back home, then game plan, then getting there, ‘kay?”

Since when did Party start calling the Diner home?

It wasn’t like he and Ghoul had started there long, but it felt like longer than it had been due to all the stress Party had been under about Kobra, and now Fallacy, and - maybe that was why.

(Maybe Ghoul was the reason why he called it home.)

“...One day,” Kobra said slowly, and there was a warning in his voice that Ghoul couldn’t place but Party nodded about. One day, and I sleep while we’re getting there and we all game plan when we get back.”

“That’s the plan,” Ghoul nodded. Apparently, it was. “When we’re done here we can stop to take the masks and guns to the Mailbox and straight to the Diner.”

Poison nodded his agreement, then paused and pointed at Kobra. “But you, you start sleeping now. You need it. We can get this done ourselves.”

Hey, just because they could didn’t mean Ghoul wanted to. He already hated the idea of burials; the sand was going to decay and decay the body until it was nothing more than a part of the desert itself, a story lost to time.

He wanted to be burned, personally. A burning flame that would reach up to the stars and maybe he could be one of those, watching over his friends.

But that wasn’t the point of what was going on, Ghoul sighed, shaking himself out of it and walking over to pick up Kobra’s discarded shovel. Looked like he wasn’t going to be needing this, Ghoul thought, as Kobra ambled to the backseat of theTrans Am to take a well-earned nap. 

“What are we going to do?” Ghoul whispered once Kobra had the door shut. Party moved with him so they could set both the shovel and anything else they needed in the trunk.

Party gave a helpless shrug - it was so out of character for him that Ghoul wasn’t sure he was even talking to the Party he knew. Maybe the shock of the entire situation just hit him, made him realize that maybe the Kobra he lost wasn’t the Kobra he found.

Then again, how did Ghoul assume Party was going to act after seeing his estranged brother seconds away from slitting someone’s throat to add onto the scene of carnage already adorning the background? 

“I don’t know,” Party said, his voice cracking, and Ghoul couldn’t blame him for it. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t like it.”

“That must’ve taken a lot to admit, huh?” Ghoul asked jokingly, a ghost of a smile teasing at his lips. It was a bad joke, really, but it brought a small smile back to Party’s worried face. “I...I think maybe we should do what we said we would do. Drop all this stuff at the Mailbox, let Kobra nap while we get back to the Diner, and then brainstorm when he’s awake, yeah?”

“Something tells me Kobes isn’t actually okay with that, though.” Party looked like he was trying to get Ghoul to get the message - the desperation, the pleading, the worry - conveyed with his eyes, but Ghoul wasn’t the best at reading Party’s body language and wasn’t a mind reader. “He’s stubborn, and was so set on finding his friend. There’s no way he isn’t up to something.”

“He isn’t a scheme to figure out.” Ghoul had to keep himself from snapping. Party was tense, and damn if earlier didn’t shake him to his core, but that didn’t mean he had any right to start treating the brother he was deadset on finding like another investigation. “Besides, you trust his word, right?”

And that must’ve been just the right way to phrase it, because Party stopped short. Unable to tell the truth and unable to lie. Eventually, Party stiffly shrugged. “Things are different right now, okay? I just don’t think he’s going to give up that easily.”

“He isn’t giving up! He is compromising, because he must be exhausted and we’re just telling him to nap for a little! What the fuck, Party? He isn’t another investigation for you to figure out! Leave it be - that’s your little brother!”

The guilt coating Party’s face was almost enough to make up for the fact that Ghoul had to yell in the first place- and he was yelling, so if Kobra wasn’t dead to the world by now (what an ironic way to say it) he certainly heard it even inside the car. 

“We’ll just…” Ghoul sighed, lowering his voice, trying to get that hurt look off Party’s face. “We’ll just keep an eye out, okay? We’ll figure it out as we go. As we do.”

“As we do,” Party echoed, and for the first time in hours Ghoul saw a glimpse of a smile. A glimpse of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

_

Visiting the Mailbox was always an odd experience for Ghoul.

The car ride there had been dead silent the entire time, other than the occasional snores or whimpers from Kobra in the backseat. Currently he was looking much more his age, tucked in with their comforter and a flat pillow neither Party nor Ghoul ever used. 

But Party and Ghoul, they didn’t say anything. Ghoul didn’t know if it was because he’d yelled at Party earlier and Party hadn’t forgiven him for it, though he doubted that was the decision. 

Maybe it was because Party didn’t want to wake Kobra, which was plausible, he supposed.

Or maybe Party just didn’t know what to say to Ghoul, which wouldn’t be too far-fetched either. Party retreated into his head, sometimes, when something particularly overwhelming was going on and he didn’t have an impulse decision he could fall back on.

Destroya, Ghoul sounded like they’d known each other for years now. They hadn’t - it’d barely been a month -, but Party in his most vulnerable state was Party without his brother in the driver's seat of his car, so Ghoul and him had become well acquainted. 

Nevertheless, the Mailbox wasan odd experience for Ghoul. He could never place why it felt so supernatural to him, but he always felt eyes watching him, like he would never be quite alone when he was there.

And it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, either, just...unusual. The presence of whomever of another plane gave him comfort, made himself more tangible and solid in the real world. 

He liked to think it was his mother.

He knew that was a bit ridiculous to think, and he knew there would be no reason for her ghost to hang around long after her mask and gun had been carefully attached to the side of the Mailbox, but even as Party dropped each mask into the Mailbox with a murmured prayer and a kiss, Ghoul’s shoulders were slumped, all the tension draining away.

The Mailbox was a place of heartache and a place of worship; Ghoul knew this. But it still brought him peace - not even a twisted version of it -, and it was there he was bold enough to think - 

We made it. Not all the way, but we made it. Far enough to have Kobra sleeping in the backseat, far enough to be here, at the Mailbox, but not mourning the death of a little brother. 

It wasn’t a matter of rescuing Kobra, not anymore. That chapter was over. And with that being said, Party should’ve asked Ghoul where he wanted to be dropped off by now.

But Party wasn’t showing any signs of letting Ghoul leave now, and Ghoul hoped upon hope it was fitting - they were still in the middle of this mess, after all, but a desperate part of Ghoul wanted Party to keep him around for no reason other than wanting him to be around.

Ghoul didn’t even bother wondering where that thought came from. He had a feeling he knew, but with all the chaos going on he would think about it later. For now, he would wait patiently for Party to finish, never interrupting the tedious blessings of masks of the newly dead, people Party probably didn’t even like.

Tradition is tradition, though, and empathy is empathy.

That being said, Ghoul had enough respect to wait until Party was finished with the masks before speaking, leaning on the Mailbox. His voice was soft - he made sure it was. Fuck it, right? “I’m sorry for yelling earlier. But d’ya get why?”

Color Ghoul surprised, but Party nodded slowly; the only break in the silence was their combined quiet breathing, a sunset coloring the background. He wanted a cigarette, he thought, when he watched Party’s mouth move as he talked. “‘M ridiculous sometimes. Maybe he isn’t up to anythin’. Do you blame me for thinking he was, though?” 

Of course he didn’t. Why would Ghoul blame him? Party just...reacted to things like Party does. That was how it worked, and Ghoul couldn’t fault him for that, even if sometimes those reactions were awful and no good for anyone. 

And as such, Ghoul shook his head. “No. I don’t blame you. He’s your brother, not a pawn in a game, y’know? Just treat ‘im like you can trust him. And if he shows that you can’t, then don’t. But he hasn’t done that yet.” 

Well, Ghoul was speculating there. He had no idea about any bumps in those brother’s lives; Party only talked about the good memories they shared. Which wasn’t that odd, but still, Ghoul was sure they lived up to their reputations and had some nasty fights. 

Party sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; for the first time that night, it was clear just how tired he was. The bags under his eyes were prominent in the lighting and Ghoul wanted nothing more for Party to lean on his shoulder and sleep, just sleep, because he needed it just as much as Kobra. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But I can’t… He’s my brother, y’know? I watched that fucker sneak out every night when he was, like, fourteen. Just...worryin’, I guess.”

“I can see you are. And, okay, I’ll put it bluntly - you need to knock it the fuck off. Beyond normal trust, where the hell is he gonna go? He doesn’t have his bike, and we’ll be at the Diner, and I don’t think even your little brother could be dumb enough to take the ‘Am.” Sometimes, it was best to be blunt with Party, and Ghoul had started to understand that.

It was mostly when he was stressed, and Ghoul smiled slightly when he saw some of the tension in Party’s shoulders ease. Sometimes you had to point out the obvious. 

(Though maybe he had a reason to be worried.)

Without a reply, Ghoul tentatively reached out to touch Party’s hand, hovering slightly, looking at his tired hazel eyes like asking for permission. 

And Party didn’t flinch away, didn’t say anything or move to stop Ghoul. But he was looking at Ghoul, mouth parted in surprise, and Ghoul carefully, slowly - giving Party the time he needed to pull away, if he wanted - entwined their fingers. 

Party’s gloves were cold to touch, but his skin was soft and almost delicate, in a way, compared to how rough and calloused Ghoul’s were. 

“It’s gonna be okay...” Ghoul faltered in the middle of ‘okay’, and maybe later he could wonder if that was an omen to his future, but for now he was content with holding Party’s hand, not too much pressure, nothing to make Party bristling.

But glancing back up at him, at the way Party’s eyes were darting between Ghoul and their joined hands, he was fighting with himself, and it was plainly written in his face. He didn’t know if he wanted Ghoul to let go. 

Party didn’t let go; instead, he tightened his grip on Ghoul’s hand and walked them both back to the Trans Am without saying a word. 

They had to part to get in their respective sides of the vehicle, but the ghost warmth of Party’s hand and the contradictory temperature of the gloves were still there. Kobra was still snoring in the backseat, in his own world for the time being, hidden away from Ghoul and Party, refusing to look at each other in the front seats. 

Whether Party wanted to look at him or stare intently at the road as he revved the engine, it still happened, and Ghoul missed the weight of Party’s hand in his. 

How much battling with himself had that taken? And, more importantly - why?

But that wasn’t what Ghoul needed to be thinking about, so he grit his teeth and forced his own attention back to the sand-covered pavement passing in front of him. 

It’s going to be okay. That’s what he told Party; everything damn well be okay then. Ghoul was never one to make promises he couldn’t keep, and maybe it wasn’t a promise out loud, but it was a promise to Ghoul.

And for everything to be okay - for Party to be okay -, then Kobra had to be okay, and if the only way to make Kobra was to rescue his friend, Jet, then Ghoul was gonna fuckin’ rescue Jet.

If you told him a month ago that he would be sitting in the passenger seat of Party Poison’s Trans Am with his little brother passed out in back about to go on the second rescue mission of the day, he would laugh and maybe throw a bomb he was working on for the trouble. 

But here he was. 

And he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

_

“Are ya gonna let ‘im sleep longer?” Ghoul asked, glancing to the back window, despite the fact he was sitting with one leg dangling off the side of the Trans Am; they were back at the Diner, but neither wanted to go back into the building, and instead Ghoul had elected to sit on the roof. He was surprised Party let him, honestly.

Party, on the other hand, had elected to sit on the hood of the car, running the back of his nails across the fading spray paint on the hood. “I think...I know we said we’d wake him up, but...yeah, I think so. He needs it.” 

“D’ya want me to radio Cherri to get his bike back here?”

“Wasn’t one of your key points earlier that Kobra didn’t have his bike so he couldn’t have an ulterior motive for compromising?”

“You’ve proved me wrong in everything I’ve said so far, figured I might keep the streak up,” Ghoul shrugged, playfully flicking at Party despite them being too far apart. 

Party rolled his eyes, but there was amusement sparkling in his eyes. It was a nice change from the constant worry and anger, and even the sadness. “Whatever. Might as well. ‘Estroya knows he loves that bike more than me.”

“Well, I’ll have earned his respect by telling Cherri to bring his bike.”

“I know that’s a joke, but it’s probably true,” Party snickered, leaning back onto the windshield, staring up at the clouds in the sky, squinting when the sun came too close to where he was looking. 

Ghoul smiled, something that would be hidden to a world of heartache and destruction and a lot of rescue missions from bad people. “I’ll work on that if you get Kobra inside, okay? The mattress in the Diner is much more comfortable than that backseat.”

“Why the fuck is there a mattress in a Diner?”

“That’s the thing you woke up on, dumbass, you should know it’s there. And it’s cos it’s more of somewhere to live than a place of food now, y’know?” 

Party shrugged. “I guess. You go radio Cherri ‘n I’ll bring Kobes in.” 

_

It seemed Agent Cherri Cola would perpetually be the best person in Ghoul’s life because he always answered his radio and never seemed to have anything going on. Maybe that was just because he didn’t have many friends or he didn’t care about the dilemmas of said friends.

To be fair, one of his friends was Show Pony, so. 

When Ghoul radioed Cherri to ask to bring Kobra’s bike by, Cherri agreed on the grounds that he could tell Kobra he was an idiot going missing for a month and get filled in on the other details to rant about as well. It was a good deal, Destroya only knew that Cherri was going to rant anyway and Ghoul didn’t want to waste any of his carbons.

He’d been a bit preoccupied getting caught up in the mess of Party’s life, he hadn’t had the chance to make or sell any bombs.

It was when he went inside that he realized it wasn’t going to be possible for Cherri to yell at Kobra because Kobra and Party were passed out on the mattress; Party’s jacket was thrown haphazardly on a Diner booth, and neither had any blankets, but they didn’t seem to mind.

Ghoul didn’t know how Party managed to pass out in less than five minutes, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Party was tired; the day’s events had taken a toll on him, as they had everyone, but Party was the only one who knew the names of everyone they buried. 

Paired with Ember escaping with Fallacy…

It was a wonder Party hadn’t exploded in anger once again, or maybe he had, but hadn’t shown anyone, and that’s what those murmured prayers to the masks were about. Ghoul didn’t know how the saying went, but he was pretty damn sure it was ‘ask for forgiveness rather than permission’. 

Maybe that’s what Party was doing.

Either way, Ghoul went out of his way to not disturb the pair. They hadn’t seen each other in a month and they’d both gone through more than hell, they both deserved the sleep.

Besides, they were holding each other too tightly to not be afraid of losing the other.

It looked like a scene that deserved a Polaroid. 

Ghoul didn’t have too much trouble digging up the old camera; it was one of the few possessions that he actually tried to keep track of, so he’d brought it with him when he moved his stuff from Bayside. 

It was a scene to be remembered - or, more accurately, it would be a night to remember. Of course, Ghoul didn’t know that as he snapped a Polaroid of the two sleeping brothers. 

_

When Kobra woke up, he was held close to his brother. 

He didn’t know when that happened - wasn’t he in the backseat of the Trans Am? And wasn’t it supposed to be day?

Did Party let him sleep through getting to the Diner? 

He couldn’t have slept through that, fuck! He had shit to do!

But if Party was asleep…

Kobra cursed to himself, only partially tinged with regret, and untangled himself from Party as silently as he could. If Party was asleep, he hoped there was a good chance Ghoul was asleep too. 

And that, you know, he figured out what the hell he was doing in the first place, considering he was in unfamiliar surroundings, disappointing his brother, and didn’t know whether Ghoul was awake or not.

So he silently stood up and listened - the only sound within the Diner was the whistling of the wind outside, through the missing glass of a cracked window. That meant Ghoul was either a cat or asleep. 

Alright, now that he’d established he was alone and free to do whatever he wanted, he observed the musty old Diner. Or, more accurately, the only things he cared about in the musty old Diner. 

Like Party’s jacket, sitting on a booth table. 

Party always kept his keys in the left pocket of his leather jacket. 

And Kobra knew he shouldn’t, but it was the middle of the night now - it had to be freezing, fuck -, and Party said he would wake him up so they could talk about how to find Jet and Party didn’t, and now Party was asleep and Kobra couldn’t wait another day.

The thought of Jet out there, by himself, in damn near the same situation he’d just gotten out of overwrote his hesitance; Kobra sighed to himself as he slid off his cherry-red jacket and put on Party’s. 

It was warmer at night. Yeah, that’s why he was wearing it. 

It was a bit too short length-wise and a bit too big width-wise, but Kobra didn’t care. But when he put his hand in the left pocket, he didn’t find a pair of keys - 

He found two pairs of keys, and he tried his best to pull them both out quietly but that clearly wasn’t possible, they were keys.

One of them was his key ring.

Did that mean his bike was around here? Fuck, did that mean his bike was okay? He’d been taken off of...Fuck, was his bike okay?!

Kobra hissed to himself when he thought about the idea of his bike not being okay, left to rust out on Dreams Boulevard, but Party couldn’t have his keys if his bike was still out there, so that was probably the reason he carelessly opened the door, the chime of the bell above him ringing throughout the Diner, but hey, no one had been woken up yet and - and fuck yeah!

There was this bike! There was 27!

It was on its kickstand next to the Trans Am - the paint was cracking and it had lost most of its shine, but the 27 on the side was still bright and bold and it was undoubtedly Kobra’s bike! 

He didn’t know how much he missed the quiet hum of the engine until he turned the keys; he didn’t know how much of a comfort it was to have something as constant in his life as 27 back until he had her back. Party was his brother, and Kobra would forever need him - but he wasn’t consistent, he wasn’t always there, not like 27 was. 

Still, it was Party who he apologized to as the Diner faded from view. Jet needed saving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes!! Yes I know this is a week late but this is FANFICTION and I have no obligation to post at the dates I told myself too....Okay that's a lie, I have my own obligations to myself but still! Here it is! I get that it's boring but!! I liked it!! What'cha think???


	11. I Can't Explain, I Said I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison isn't letting his brother go again. But maybe his fear is getting in the way of doing just that. 
> 
> Kobra Kid doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't know what's happening but he knows that it's his fault and sometimes it shows up in...odd ways.

“Party, Party, shit, dude, you gotta wake up!”

Party groaned, rolling over, but there was a distinct lack of warmth next to him and his brain thought that was ever-so-slightly odd before he bolted upright and remembered - oh. 

Oh, right. Kobra had been sleeping next to him. And now he wasn’t.

But when he bolted up, he slammed his head into something - that something shrieking as Party fell back and cursed, holding his forehead and rolling around to get the cold mattress on it to help the pain.

And when he miraculously managed to open his eyes, sitting up but still holding his head, there was no light filtering in through the windows.

In fact, it was only dim moonlight streaming through the windows and illuminating a wincing Ghoul, holding his nose with blood on his fingernails. 

“Where’s Kobra?” Party asked immediately, rather than asking about Ghoul’s bloody nose (he was sure of which he just caused). It was still night. 

Why else would Ghoul wake him up in the middle of the night and where the hell is his baby brother?

“That’s what I was tryin’ ta wake ya up for,” said Ghoul, though his voice was muffled due to him holding his nose. But Poison actually started paying attention when Ghoul nodded over to an empty booth -

Wait, that booth wasn’t supposed to be empty!

Ghoul finished the thought before he could. “He took his bike… And your jacket. Which means the keys of the Trans Am, too.”

“I told you bringing his bike was a bad idea!”

“No, you told me it was a key point in my earlier argument, and I explicitly told you that I’ve been proved wrong in everything so far, so technically I’m just being self-aware.”

“Whatever,” Party huffed, standing up and popping his wrists and neck, stretching to get rid of the drowsiness in his system as quickly as possible - “D’ya know how long ago he left? Is it possible we can catch up with him? Do we know where he’s going?”

Ghoul shook his head even as he answered, though Party was sleepily wondering if he should be allowed to look not-shitty at this time of night like he doubtlessly was himself. “I was woken up by the bell above the door leavin’, so barely a minute or so, but again - we don’t have keys and also no idea where he’s going.”

“I can hotwire the ‘Am real fuckin’ quick,” Party waved off, already motioning for Ghoul to follow him as he stalked toward the doors. 

It was cold out. He missed his jacket; for some reason, he didn’t mind Kobra taking it as he much as he thought he should.

A jacket is who you are, he thought, sighing to himself as he started to untie his bootlace. A jacket is your signature, but Party thought, maybe, just maybe he would be able to find Kobra before anything bad happened because he was wearing Party’s jacket. It was an executive and time-wasting decision to run back to the Diner and slide on Kobra's jacket. 

The weird look Ghoul was giving was questioning why he was untying his boot at a time like this, but this wasn’t the first time Party had been locked out of his own car and didn’t have his keys.

It happened more frequently than it realistically should, though Party was just glad he didn’t have to waste time trying to figure out what the Hell he was doing as he tied a slipknot in his now completely removed lace.

And the Trans Am was old - it was older than Party -, so he didn’t have much trouble shimmying the lace between the door’s seal and the frame of the car, sliding it down to were the knot caught on the indentation in the manual unlock. 

He was also fucking glad he’d had someone manually turn that alarm off. 

Ignoring the impressed look Ghoul was giving him (that wasn’t time to acknowledge it), Party opened the door and hastily dropped the lace, telling Ghoul to open the glovebox - 

Because that was where he kept the screwdriver, though that was usually to hotwire cars that weren’t his. 

The seconds ticked by, seconds wasted, seconds that he could be using to find Kobra, but his fingers were shaking and he didn’t know why this was so damn difficult. 

Something was amiss, but he didn’t know what, and it wasn’t that he lacked his signature jacket and his baby brother at his side. 

Something bad was going to happen tonight. 

But there wasn’t enough time to not think on that, not when he had to work on hotwiring his car. He was SO going to kill Kobra later for forcing him to hotwire his own damn car, but that was hours in a future where Kobra wound up by his side again without anything bad happening in the meantime. 

Given their luck, Party’s worst fears would be his reality. 

“D’ya know where that old Arcade Fallacy was talkin’ about is?” Party asked, huffing at how much his hands were shaking and his tongue barely sticking out as he furrowed his brow to concentrate, and goddamnit, get this done. 

There was no answer for a moment or so, and Party looked up to see why Ghoul wasn’t answering only to bang his head on the steering wheel, shout “Ow!” and decide it wasn’t worth it.

Whatever it was, Ghoul snapped back to attention at Party’s cry of pain. “Oh, uh, yeah, I think so. Ya think I can drive us there?” 

“As much as the idea of you driving the Trans Am burns my soul enough to light up Battery City, I need to tie my boot again,” Party sighed, but it was only when he got the engine started that he grinned and clumsily switched places with Ghoul. 

“Oh -!” He added, grabbing his stupid yet life-saving lace to relace his stupid yet useful boot. “Uh, you’re gonna have to break the steering lock. Um, unless you wanna drive straight off a cliff or something.”

Ghoul nodded. Sometimes Party forgot he knew about mechanics. This was most likely because Ghoul tended not to talk about himself too often, but he did mention things here and there, and when sit wasn’t bombs, it was mechanics.

If they didn’t meet the way they did, Ghoul and Kobra would be best friends. 

That’s what Party decided his thoughts were best settled on what life would be like if his life wasn’t governed by his brother’s recklessness - it was a family trait - and tendency to get kidnapped. They hadn’t even been together long enough for Kobra to tell him what the Hell had been going on in the last few weeks!

Party deserved that much!

“-ey, you good?”

“Huh?” Party asked, snapping his head up from where he realized he’d been zoning out, tying his bootlace. There was no steering wheel to hit his head on, luckily. “Oh - oh, yeah, ‘m fine. Thinkin’.” 

“Thought I told ya idiots like us weren’t supposed to do that?”

“Must’a slipped my mind. What’s our ETA?” He was getting antsy just sitting here in the car, knowing Kobra could be in trouble again, and maybe this time Party wouldn’t be there in time to stop something horrific. 

Then again, if Party hadn’t showed up to Ghost City at all, there was no way Kobra would’ve killed Fallacy without knowing the names of those Tumbleweeds.

Right?

Whatever, he shook the thought off, tuning back into the world around him as Ghoul started talking, neither taking their eyes off the dark road. He was glad he’d replaced the headlights a while ago. “Less than a half-hour. Doesn’t take too long to get there in general, but I got a look at that bike when Cherri dropped it off to see if there was any damage to it and it’s been modified, so he’ll definitely be there before us.”

Despite the circumstances, Party suppressed a smile. Kobra used to spend hours just tweaking this or that with 27; sometimes he'd call Party out and they’d paint it. That was probably the only time Party got a genuine laugh and smile out of his brother that lasted longer than twenty seconds. In reality, he didn’t say any of that. “Doesn’t surprise me. We’ll just have to hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I mean, we might be out of luck,” Ghoul joked. It was to lighten the mood, and it wasn’t working, but Party appreciated the sentiment. “Being stupid and reckless is a family trait, right?”

“There are a few more family traits that I wish we didn’t share,” Party sighed, leaning his head on the elbow he propped on the window sill. Reckless abandon was one of them, though Party was almost certain Kobra had picked that up because of him and not their Battery-City-abiding parents. 

Ghoul seemed to sense that Party wasn’t in the mood for conversation and didn’t reply. The hum of the engine was enough noise for Party right now, though maybe that was because he was used to the times he was driving and Kobra was curled up in the passenger seat, asleep for once in his life. 

It was odd. This was as worried as he’d been for Kobra, despite knowing where he was going and that he wasn’t injured or dying in some ditch. On some level, it might be guilt, because of how stupidly distracted he’d let himself get during the crucial time in which Kobra was gone, was taken, was Destroya knew where with a ‘joy Party had never heard of before. 

But if there was anything that would get you killed in the Zones, it was thinking too hard, and Party grit his teeth and kept his eyes on the road. The speed they were going wasn’t exceptionally good for the gas gauge, but as soon as a dusty one-story building with chipped neon paint, his hand was already on the handle of his ray gun. 

Understandably, Ghoul wasn’t quite used to know averse the Trans Am was to stopping - the brake pads needed to be changed, but Party hadn’t gotten around to it, obviously - and they came to a jerky stop - 

Party had jumped out the passenger door the moment he saw 27 by the side of the building, before the car came to a stop and before Ghoul could yell at him to be careful.

Most of it was a blur.

Party had one objective, and that was to protect his baby brother if it killed him. 

But as he shoved those glass doors open, Party’s thoughts bubbled up with burning hysteria - Maybe it wasn’t Kobra being killed that he should be afraid of.

Maybe it was Kobra he should be afraid of. 

Kobra had his back turned to Party at the moment, and there was a streak of blood that Party only saw because of the way it reflected off the dark blue of Party’s own jacket; the ray gun in his hand was bright green, it wasn’t Kobra’s colors, but he didn’t seem to care.

There was no one he was blasting at. 

In fact, it was eerily silent. Kobra was standing motionless, and Party could barely make out the sound of his breathing. The only light came from the moonlight filtering through the dirty glass doors that closed behind Party with a soft thud, but he was as still as Kobra.

“They aren’t -” Party’s voice cracked as he spoke, drawing Kobra’s attention. “They aren’t dead, right?” 

There a delayed reaction on Kobra’s part - when he seemed to recognize Party was speaking to him, he whirled around still holding that ray gun, and his eyes were feral, almost animalistic, but they were civil in seconds and Party wondered if he just imagined. “Wha - no! Of course not. Of course not, this is on stun, and you know I don’t like using my ray gun too much.”

Kobra was babbling. Kobra didn’t babble.

As much as it pained him, Party approached him cautiously, but casually took the gun out of his hand and tossed it onto one of the old arcade games. “Did ya find out where your friend is?”

That seemed to be the only relevant question Party was willing to ask; and as bad as it sounded, he didn’t think he felt too bad for the crew Kobra had fought, though with the scene around him it was less than a fair fight. 

These were the people who fueled Fallacy’s obsession with, apparently, him.

Still, there were more killjoys littering the floor than Party wanted to process. This was way too many ‘joys for one person to take on themself, even if that killjoy was Mike Milligram or, like, American Idiot.

Kobra should not be the one left standing. Kobra should not have managed to create a scene this final and finished within the time he had gotten here and the time it took Party to catch up. 

Nevertheless, Kobra nodded. He didn’t seem sympathetic in the slightest; he wasn’t looking around at all. Just at Party, but not meeting his eyes at all. “Yeah. Luckily, we don’t got no more geese to chase after. Jus’ pickin’ the lock on the storage room.”

“Lock-picking?”

That wasn’t Party, but Kobra still wasn’t looking away from his brother. He might be staring at the ground at this point, though. 

It was Ghoul, and Party had gotten into a bad habit of forgetting when Ghoul was behind him that hadn’t gone away from when they’d met. 

In his defense, he didn’t jump, but smiled to himself when he looked back and Ghoul was grinning, pulling something out of his back pocket. 

“Lock-picking is a skill that comes with bomb-making,” was all the explanation Ghoul gave, gesturing Kobra to lead him to whatever room he was talking about. 

Oddly enough, Party let himself trail behind both of them, stopping momentarily to kick that stupid green ray gun. He didn’t know why he had so much contempt for it. Maybe it was because he stopped to inspect it.

It was not on stun. 

“Hey, Party, you comin’?” 

Party swallowed dryly, staring at the gun, before standing up and smiling at his brother. Kid brother. Baby brother. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m jus’ checkin’ to make sure no one’s gonna wake up.”

“No one’s over there.” Kobra was confused, and justifiably so, but so was Party. He angled his body to keep that gun he’d kicked out of Kobra’s line of sight.

“You took my jacket,” Party pointed out, stepping in sync as Kobral led them both back to whatever part of The Arcade he’d led Ghoul to, pointedly keeping his eyes from looking at all the neon-dressed ‘joys unconscious or dead around the place. 

Kobra hummed belatedly, but offered no explanation. Party hadn’t expected him to. He had a weird attachment to Party’s jacket, and while he understood why maybe right now he needed the affirmation that his baby brother was still his baby brother.

Because looking at him now, wearing Party’s jacket, as lanky as ever and standing as though he didn’t quite know what to do with his body, he would almost seem exactly the same. Except there was a harsher set to his shoulders, except there was something in his eyes screaming different and wrong and not the little kid Party was used to protecting. 

So instead of focusing on it too much, Party gave him a curt pat on the shoulder (he had to reach up to do so, which was stupid) and went to crouch next to Ghoul, who was intently focused on picking the lock.

Ghoul didn’t look over at him, but he did shrug with the shake of his head. “I understand now why Kid over there didn’t just kick it down. Door’s reinforced, though I can’t figure out with what or how, ‘n this lock is...complicated.”

“Will ya still be able to pick it?” Party asking, leaning against the wall because he certainly did not have the calves to be crouching as long as Ghoul.

“I wouldn’t still be sitting here if I couldn’t. It’ll take me a minute or two. You should, uh, probably go talk to your brother.” 

That’s the last thing I want to do right now, Party thought; then immediately after: what the fuck?

He came all the way out here to make sure he didn’t have to go on another crusade to save his brother. And now he didn’t want to talk to him?

But what he said out loud was, “I just talked to him. Came over to talk to you. D’ya think...something’s off about him?” 

His voice dropped toward the end, and thank Destroya Ghoul caught on because it was then that Kobra looked their way. Party gave a smile he had to fake and, Destroya, Destroya he hated that he had to fake it. 

“I think it’s been a long month,” Ghoul murmured, still working, but glancing at Party to make sure the seriousness of his words was getting across. “I think things have changed and you haven’t had the time to sort it all out yet, and I think that yes, he’s not acting like how you expect him to. But he’s been actin’ pretty consistently to me. What if he’s just changed?”

Party didn’t want to consider that and was now cursing Ghoul for bringing it up. 

Kobra was his little baby brother who needed protection, the Zones best motorbaby with a penchant for switchblade fights and rare smiles, the kid who used to look at Party like he was going to save the world when they were huddled together to keep from freezing to death on cold nights.

Party didn’t want to consider that maybe, just maybe, he could still be that kid if only Party had been a better brother. 

“Hey.” Ghoul was talking again. Right. Party should focus on him, instead. “It’s all gonna be okay. Like I told you. It’ll all be over soon.”

And almost as if on cue, there was a loud ‘click’, and Ghoul was grinning again, any trace of that tender expression he had gone as he swung the door open before even standing up. “Hell yeah! That’s how we bombmakers DO it!”

Kobra shoved past them both with barely a raised eye at Ghoul’s cheering. 

And with more common sense than him, the two entered more cautiously, making eye contact and nodding as if to say, ‘I get this side, you get that side’ so nothing surprised them. Surprises were starting to get old. 

There was nothing to surprise them.

But there was someone lying against a dingy old cupboard - this entire room screamed ‘sad employees who smoked weed to not deal with children’, but Party didn’t exactly have the time to critique the dim lighting as rushed to his brother’s side to inspect injuries.

He assumed this was Jet.

Kobra was murmuring something, sitting him up, gently tearing off the duct tape that’s been wrapped around his mouth, but Party wasn’t processing what Kobra was saying at all. Jet wasn’t looking at him, but Party was most definitely staring at the mangled eye.

“Yeah, he needs medical help, I know.” Kobra sounded...tired? 

Party had never seen him become particularly close with any of his friends - he wasn’t the type to keep close friends. No, but there was something written in blood between him and Jet, he thought.

Kobra had never gone this far out of his way to rescue anyone. Then again, he’d never been MIA for a month; he’d never been away from Party that long, either. 

What did it do to him? 

Nevertheless, Party tried his best to stop getting so fucking distracted -whatever happened to staying out of his head? -, and gently cleaned Jet stay steady as Kobra removed all the other bindings, all without saying a word. 

He didn’t know if he could talk to Kobra.

But for now, it wasn’t Kobra he was addressing; it was more like thinking out loud. “We need to get Jet to a Clinic. Anyone know a clinic ‘round here?”

That eye was going to get infected if it wasn’t already. He’d be permanently blind in it either way, but that infection could literally kill him and Party had seen more death in the last day or so than he cared to admit.

Instinctively, he looked over to Ghoul - Ghoul, who always knew everything - but Ghoul was silent. Not the kind of silent that said he didn’t know anything; his body had tensed up too much for that. He was debating.

Party could’ve pried, but he remained silent until Ghoul’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled slowly. “There...is a clinic around here. I haven’t been there myself, but there are stories. D’ya think it’s worth it? I mean...we’d just have to drive longer to get to a better clinic -”

“We’ll go,” Kobra said sharply.

Dammit, if Ghoul thought it was sketchy then it was certainly sketchy, and Ghoul shouldn’t have said anything.

Hopefully, they’d all learned by now that Kobra was in no state of mind to hear any contradictions, so Party nodded and offered silently to help Jet up. 

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

He couldn’t figure out why until Kobra’s hand grazed his as they lifted Jet together. Important to note - Party wasn’t quite whether Jet was conscious or not. 

Kobra grunted as Party shifted and accidentally shifting most of Jet’s weight onto him, but Party had to readjust the way he was holding Jet. 

Why was he being so flaky? 

He should not be afraid of his own brother. He should not be afraid of the kid he vividly remembered seeing walk into a wall, only to blink and then walk into said wall again. 

He was not scary! But something was wrong, and Party knew it because Kobra hated change even more than Party, and Kobra would be damned before he let himself act the way he was now.

Maybe he was just paranoid. 

_

It was the screaming that told Party that Ghoul was right.

Party had started to doze off in one of the chairs in the make-shift ‘waiting room’. It wasn’t as bad as some places he’d been to when he didn’t have any med supplies, but the overhead lighting was green and if that didn’t radiate evil energy, he didn’t know what. 

Then again, he was starting to think he just had a thing against the color green in genera;: but only neon green, ‘cos Ghoul’s color was also green, but a different shade of green, and that was a cool shade of green. 

And then he heard screaming.

Party jumped up, looking around wildly, but Kobra had already beat him to the punchline and was racing past the sterile-but-sandy desk that served as the receptionist’s area. 

Ghoul was the one tugging him along, not giving him time to fumble with his ray gun as he raced down the corridor, his boots at odds with the slippery tile floor. 

Party didn’t know when the screaming ceased, but he knew he was following his brother, and when Kobra turned, Ghoul turned, and Party was going with them whether he wanted to or not.

He found he absolutely wanted to when he was finally pulled into a grimy, green-lit room, and by the time Party recognized the stench of burning flesh Kobra and Ghoul already had their ray guns out and fired.

Or maybe they hadn’t, and the burning smell came from Jet’s eye - 

Wait - 

Party bent over and had to keep from retching, covering his mouth and gagging as he realized it wasn’t coming from Jet’s eye, but there wasn’t an eye that. The eye socket, however, had smoke pouring from it, and Ghoul seemed to be the only one functioning enough to ask, “What in the Witch -?”

The doctor - Party knew he was the twisted version of a doctor here because of the color-covered lab cot - smiled at them, maniacally and insane. 

Dr. Benzedrine did it better.

“There was simply no saving it!” The doctor said. “We’ll give him painkillers and bandages, of course, but there was simply no way to keep from infection without removing the eye entirely.”

Ghoul snarled and lifted his ray gun higher. Kobra still seemed out of it, eyes barely flickering over to Ghoul’s when he started spitting out his words. “Snow Storm an’ raised, I know for a fact that’s wrong medically and ethically, in many ways, so what fuckin’ game are you playin’ here, Doc Manhattan?”

“Doc what?” Party asked, about as functioning as his brother. 

“It’s a comic book character I didn’t read many issues,” Ghoul shook his head, focusing back in on the doctor - or more accurately, the bloody mutilated eye in his hand. 

“I suppose this is where you shoot me?” the doctor asked, raising a brow, though he seemed less than worried.

This felt too surreal. Party didn’t like it. But he had enough common sense to raise his own ray gun, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to look away from the blood dripping to the floor. 

“Well...yeah!” Ghoul huffed, but he wasn’t the one to pull the trigger.

No, that was Kobra, but Party only realized that after the blast was delivered, a straight shot between the eyes, the burning stench intensifying. 

“Kobra, what the Hell - !”

Kobra dropped his gun, throwing it away from him, barely a foot from Jet. Party bit his tongue to keep from looking over, but he had a feeling it was that panicked face he had when he messed up and didn’t know how to fix it. “I - I don’t know! He was - he was going to - I don’t know! He just took Jet’s EYE!”

“At least it was the mangled one?”

Party glanced over to Jet, who made the weak joke, leaning against one of the dirty walls and not moving his face, not a twitch, nothing. Stumbling over his feet wasn’t a good look on Party, but he rushed over to Jet to stand him up, to maybe not acknowledge his brother. 

“You’re gonna be okay, you know?” Party mumbled, and found he was repeating it over and over again, the same thing Ghoul said to him; more to himself than to Jet, but Jet seemed to find as much comfort in it as Party did. 

“Kobra, do - something with the doctor,” Party ordered, falling into his role as a leader (the one he gave himself, of course), though he didn’t know why he gave his brother that job. “Ghoul - you get bandages and painkillers, I don’t care how you get them so long as you get them. I’ll get Jet to the ‘Am and then we’re off. And - Kobra, my keys?”

Party hadn’t focused in long enough to realize that he’d saved himself from most of his own trauma with Kobra’s jacket; between the fabric of Kobra’s jacket snug around his shoulders and Jet’s jacket, he didn’t want to vomit at the thought of touching someone.

He did let Ghoul hold his hand earlier, though. 

Whatever, he huffed, tripped at an uneven step out of the (what is now being called) torture room. 

And after that, he blocked out everything that wasn’t maneuvering him and Jet out to the Trans Am to rest without the interference of, oh, say, someone taking his eyes out. 

Luckily for him, Jet wasn’t resisting and clung as much to Party as Party was to him, and he only realized too late that Jet was keeping him up as much as vice versa.

Party wasn’t the one that had been held captive for days, though. 

He had a feeling it was the fear more than anything.

Like he’d said earlier - 

Something was wrong, and oh, in true Party Poison fashion, he wouldn’t find out until it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that's a wrap, folks! As I'm gonna be offline for a few days, here's your chapter - not just on time but EARLY! Wild, I know. What'd'ya think?


	12. They Gave Us Two Shots To The Back Of The Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison can't stop pacing, so Ghoul takes action. 
> 
> Kobra Kid has secrets.

Running like a normal crew was a foreign concept to Party. All his life, it was him and his brother, and that was that. 

When they were in the City, it was them against their parents and the law. When they came out here, it was them against Better Living industries, and Party had never even considered running with a crew before, not when he had Kobra, not when they were the Venom Brothers.

The past three weeks - three weeks since the incident with at the clinic - and...Party wasn’t quite as opposed to the idea of being a crew as he was at the start.

For starters, he had Kobra back now, which meant his nerves weren’t as shot to hell and his temper wasn’t as bad as it was when Kobra was gone. And Jet was a cool guy - he was still recuperating from his eye, but he did have to admit that it was probably healing better now that they did have disinfectant and fresh bandages, even if there, uh, wasn’t an eye there anymore.

As for Ghoul… Well, Party learned to adapt, out in the desert, and while they’d only known each other for two months now Ghoul was starting to become a staple of Party’s life. He couldn’t imagine not having Ghoul around doing dumb shit that ended up being important in the long run.

Speaking of runs, Party had no idea why he was letting Kobra go on those again. Almost immediately after Jet was stable enough for all of them to trust nothing weird was going to happen with his eye (they weren’t medics, okay?), Kobra was gone, off to do another run for whoever. Like that wasn’t what started all of this in the first place.

And it was frustrating - oh, Destroya, if Party had thought his trials were escaping the City, he was proven cruelly wrong, because this was so much worse. 

His brother, his baby brother - you know, the one he just went through hell to save? - wouldn’t talk to him about anything, least of all what happened in the time BLI had him. And he knew BLI had Kobra, because Jet was nice and confirmed that much. 

Yeah, yeah, he knew was overthinking and that obsessively pacing the kitchen wasn’t going to help - it was the middle of the night, no one else was up, but Kobra was gone and Party couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his eyes.

Being tired didn’t affect what was happening in other parts of the Desert, wherever Kobra was at, and Party was going to be awake when he got back. To make sure he was safe, is what he told himself.

In the meantime, his feet were getting tired. The pacing wasn’t good for the tiles and his clothing rustled so much he was starting to think that he might wake Jet or Ghoul if he kept this up. 

Maybe...he could re-dye his hair? It needed it, he knew that. Red hair was a pain to keep, and sure, Ghoul had dyed it for him a while ago but now it was fading again.

Then again, dyeing his hair was still a lot of waiting around and being bored, and that wasn’t going to stimulate his mind enough to keep him up. 

Tugging on said fading strands of red hair wasn’t helping, either. He was going to shut down soon. He couldn’t shut down. Kobra left his radio here.

What if something happened?

Why did Kobra do this? Did he not see how worried Party was? Did he not see that Party was going out of his mind wondering about the ‘what if’ every single time Kobra so much as looked at that bike.

And Cherri even said it himself - Kobra wasn’t going to the Crash Track! Kobra! Not going to the Crash Track? What was wrong? Was it something BLI did to him? Was it something Party did? Could he fix it?

“Party?” 

Party’s head snapped up, alarmed at the sound of another living breathing person - did he miss Kobra coming home? Fuck, no, he couldn’t have - oh. It was Ghoul, sleepily squinting at him and covering a yawn with his hand. “Oh- uh, sorry Ghoulie. You can go back to sleep, I’ll, um, try to quiet down.” 

“N - no, ‘s fine,” Ghoul shook his head, stifling another nod, shuffling over to pull himself onto the Diner’s kitchen counter, gesturing for Party to sit with him. “I was already half-awake anyway. Why’re ya still up? Ya look like you’re about to redline.”

“Not tired.” That was a lie. Nevertheless, Party leaned against the counter rather than sitting next to ghoul, letting his head fall between his shoulders, the split tips of his hair barely touching the grimy counter as he inspected the grease-stained ceiling. 

Ghoul hummed, drawing his attention, and used that opportunity to run his thumb gently over the worsening purple line under Party’s eye. “Yeah you are, Cherry Bomb. Can we settle into bed, now?”

A sigh from Party. He was tired, he wanted to pass out, but he had to wait for Kobra. He didn’t tell Ghoul this. “’M gonna test my luck, okay?”

“I don’ think that’s a good idea…”

“It’s not, but I can’t sleep.” Oh, he would fall asleep in seconds if he closed his eyes for any longer than a standard blink. “Go back to sleep, ‘m fine.”

Ghoul shifted, pulling one of his short legs up to his chest to lean his cheek on it, lazily dropping his hand from Party’s eye to doodle on his leg, a soothing repetitive rhythm despite Party not being able to place what he was drawing. “No you’re not. You’re waitin’ up for the Kid, aren’t you? You know he’s not gonna be back for a while.”

“Please don’t try to convince me to go to sleep,” Party sighed, refusing to let his gaze flicker over to Ghoul. It didn’t work.

Ghoul’s eyes were a pretty shade of blue; they were icy, intense but dark around the pupil and becoming lighter and lighter around the edges. Party hadn’t noticed that before.

But Ghoul looked away, shrugged as best he could with the way he was sitting. “I’m not gonna convince you to do anything. But now I’m not gonna fall asleep, either. I’ll stay up with you, if that’s okay?”

With a non-committal flick of his wrist, Party counted that as an answer and blocked out the world around him. If Ghoul did want to keep him company, he was going to have trouble because Party didn’t know if it was a good idea or not to have someone around right now.

Not when his nerves were so shot to Hell and he wanted to dart out into the middle of the Desert and run a mile as quickly as his legs would take him to keep him awake, even though it would exhaust him. He needed the adrenaline. 

Of course, he wasn’t allowed to zone out for too long before Ghoul was tossing a blanket at this face - wait, what?

Party barely caught it before it hit him in the nose, the soft wind from the force making him blink, half in surprise and half in bewildered confusion.

“Well, you can’t expect me to think that jacket is gonna keep you warm, right?” Ghoul laughed, and it was like welcome home.

Still confused, Party draped the blanket over his shoulders, holding the woven corners close to his chest like a cape. “What d’ya mean? We aren’t going anywhere...?”

Ghoul’s laugh faded, but he was still smiling, warm and gentle and everything needed to calm all of Party’s shot nerves. He gestured for Party to follow him, and of course, Party obliged, stumbling over his untied bootlace. Huh. “Well, we are, technically, ‘cos outside is somewhere.”

“Are you getting something from the ‘Am?” Party asked, tilting his head and furrowing his brows. He genuinely didn’t know why Ghoul was laughing at him and pulling him forward by the blanket, out into the harsh cold of the Desert night. 

“Uh, kinda? I thought...Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, but you're tired as fuck and I need’ta keep ya awake somehow so you don’t hate yourself when you wake up an’ your bro is here.”

And with that, Ghoul left Party standing there, opening the door to the passenger seat of the Trans Am (shit, that was unlocked? Party must be out of it if he forgot to lock it…), starting the car but fiddling with...the radio? Why was he fucking with the radio? 

Party doesn’t get it until a song comes blasting out of the shitty, old speakers, and even then, he’s waiting for Ghoul. “Wha’…?”

They were both going to ignore how Ghoul tripped as he got out of the car. It was late, they were both tired, it was to be expected.

Ghoul smiled, again - what was Party doing to deserve all of these smiles? “Um, I’ve got a - a decent collection a’ CD’s over the years. This one’s, um, I think it’s called Nothing Personal? The album, I mean, not the band, I, uh, forget their name.” 

“So why’d you put it on, I mean?” Party giggles. He catches himself, wondering why the Hell he’s giggling - giggling! - and that makes him giggle more, because seriously, why is he laughing? 

“You shut the fuck up, you sleep-deprived little shit,” Ghoul said, but he started laughing too, and Party doesn’t even recognize as Ghoul puts his hands on his shoulders and pulls him close. 

And then they’re swaying to the music - Party doesn’t even know the song, but he does know that it isn’t one of those songs you slow-dance too -, but Party’s hands are still holding the blanket tight to his chest. 

“You took me out here to dance?” asked Party, after the song had changed. He didn’t know why he didn’t ask earlier.

Maybe it was because he didn’t want to ruin it. 

Ghoul hummed, and Party took that as his opportunity to drop his death grip on the blanket - who knew if it fell into the sand or not, but he wasn’t aware of his surroundings beyond Ghoul and the music enough to feel the fabric sliding off his shoulders -, and hesitantly, gently put his hands on Ghoul’s waist. 

This was how you slow-danced, right? This is where he’s supposed to put his hands?

If it isn’t, Ghoul doesn’t say anything, and they keep swaying.

Party nearly falls to the ground when Ghoul dips him, or at least thinks he’s going to, but Ghoul’s got him and then there’s both laughing, too little air in their lungs to breath and Party’s mouth hurts from smiling too hard and nothing is in focus and hell, he thinks the CD is skipping out but who knows? Who cares?

And that’s about when Party looks up, at the same time Ghoul does, but when they lock eyes they aren’t laughing anymore.

Party had said it before and he’d say it again. Ghoul had pretty eyes.

He… also had a gleam in his eyes, maybe the right combination of hope and revolution and downright adoration, making it impossible for Party to look away. He doesn’t know if he looks as starstruck as he feels, in that moment, unaware of the halt the pair came too as he stared; wondering how mesmerizing those icy eyes could be. 

Briefly, his gaze flickered down, away from Ghoul’s eyes, but then Ghoul was gone, and Party was caught confused, caught off-guard and angry at himself.

Ghoul was fucking with the radio. Right, right, the CD was skipping. He had to fix it, obviously, because not everyone could ignore the way the skipping of a song grated on your eyes. 

The song fit the occasion, though, Party thought, watching Ghoul curse to himself in the passenger seat, one hand on the radio and one leg, inexplicably, on the dashboard. Lost in stereo indeed.

It was safe to say Party was wide-awake now, that was for sure. Ghoul accomplished that much, at least, and Party wasn’t sure it was a good idea when Ghoul came back over with a nervous, hesitant smile, offering his hand to Party for what might be the second time that night. (The details were blurry. Everything was blurry. He wanted to sleep. But he had to wait for Kobra.)

“It’s all gonna be okay.” Now that was a phrase Ghoul seemed to be fond of, but it felt like something special, something just for the two of them, something no one else was allowed to know about, something that calmed Party’s nerves, somewhat.

But somewhat was enough for Party to lean his head on Ghoul’s shoulder. Being taller didn’t stop him, and hopefully that was a response in its own because suddenly Party didn’t know if his vocal cords would work if he tried to talk. 

They’re swaying again, more slowly, the music a blur in the background as Party lets himself close his eyes, his hands connected behind Ghoul’s back, wrapped around him.

Party wasn’t awake to hear the way Ghoul said, “Oh, Cherry Bomb, you’re going to be the death of me, you know?” 

_

Ghoul was lucky he got Party to sleep, albeit with unusual methods and Ghoul wasn’t used to carrying someone heavier and larger than him. 

Kobra didn’t make it home for another few hours, and dear Destroya, if Party’s pacing had gone on any longer Ghoul would’ve shot his years off just to not listen to the shuffling of feet for a minute. 

And… Yeah, dancing with Party was… nice, and that was the only thing Ghoul was willing to say about that particular happening. Now, he had a passed-out Party Poison, and an angry, isolated Kobra Kid, and a Jet Star who was also still sleeping.

Lucky Jet. 

Because while Party sleeping for once in his life was nice, he started slipping from Ghoul’s arms around the booth area, so Ghoul sat down to readjust and then actually go put him to bed, but no, he got clingy and wouldn’t let Ghoul leave. So now he just existed there now?

Of course, he did, and he might’ve started dozing off as well (he’d picked up the sandy blanket Party dropped) had the Diner door not slammed open just as the midday sun started making Party’s body heat unbearable. 

Ghoul jerked away, entire body rigid, glaring through the harsh reflection of the sun to find the undyed hair of… Agent Cherri Cola? “What the fuck?”

Cherri didn’t even wait to figure out where Ghoul was speaking from before he was already babbling, darting gaze looking around the Diner in paranoia. “I - I, fuck, Kobra told me about what happened with - with, well, yeah, and, shit, guys, you have to be careful - “

“Slow down, Cola.” It’s Kobra. Kobra never calls Cherri ‘Cola’. What...what the Hell? “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Wait, fuck, and that was Party. Shit! He only got to sleep a few hours ago! And, oh, great, now he’s pretending that he totally wasn’t passed out in Ghoul’s lap, okay, that was a thing but that certainly wasn’t Ghoul’s first priority as he, too, scrambled to invade Cherri’s personal space. 

Cherri was taking a deep breath, trying not to stutter, looking at all of their expectant gazes - even Jet, who’d snuck in at some point. “I...I think that massacre wasn’t your last encounter with Fallacy Fame.”

Party scoffed, already going on the defensive, crossing his arms and standing his ground despite the people crowding him and despite his sleep-mused hair. “Of course it wasn’t! He isn’t dead. What’s our issue now?”

“Better Living,” Cherri blurted, wincing; he at least had the common sense to say more before anyone could react. “Better Living Industries, ‘n Fallacy, is what I mean. I think - well, radio ‘ports say he’s been ridin’ in a white jacket an’ a whole load’a cousins with ‘im -”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ghoul damn near snarled at Kobra. He didn’t get the right to act so indignant right now, with that stupid shell-shocked look on his face.

Ghoul knew his anger was misplaced. He knew that Kobra was traumatized. But he didn’t get to say something like ‘no’, not when he’d been pretending it never happened in the first place. So who cared if he snapped?

“I mean,” Kobra glared at him, jaw shut tight. “I mean that’s not possible. No, it’s gotta be another inside agent, something, but it isn’t Fallacy Fame.”

“How would you know?” At least one of them was able to keep a calm composure - and oddly enough, it was Party, stepping up as Cherri stepped back, getting in between Kobra and Ghoul as Ghoul spat at the ground near Kobra’s feet. But his desperation was still shown in his face as he glanced toward his brother, too afraid to look him in the eyes. “Kobes, how would you know?”

“No reason,” Kobra said blankly. No one believed him, but Jet was by his side and holding his hand. 

Jet may have looked like he was supporting Kobra, but Ghoul saw the truth - it was plain to see in his eyes, he wasn’t convinced Kobra was telling the truth, either. 

There was something melodic about the wind, the way it whistled outside of the Diner, though maybe that was because the wind was the only thing keeping the tension in the air from crushing them all under its weight. 

“Kobes?” Party’s voice cracked, caked in worry or caked in denial he didn’t know. Why were they all so quick to jump to the conclusion Kobra somehow knew something, knew something bad?

Party’s pleading didn’t work, and it was obvious from the way Kobra’s lip curled up and he turned away, yanking his hand out of Jet’s grasp and storming off to, supposedly, what had become his room.

“Is there any word on what his old crew is doing?” asked Jet quietly, addressing Cherri, who had silently watched the exchange between the make-shift group. Unlike the rest of them, Jet had a blatant refusal to look wherever Kobra stormed off too. 

Cherri apologetically shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. Not looking at any of them, no, but looking at where Kobra went. The opposite of Jet, huh. “Not - not that we’ve heard. They might’a gone Ember Bridge. Prob’ly would be best for ‘em, but...I dunno. Jus’... Be careful. And make sure he’s bein’ careful, ‘kay?” 

While the unspoken message between Jet, Party, and Ghoul was a shared look meaning they damn well knew they couldn’t do anything about Kobra, Party still gave as best a smile as he could manage. “Yeah, we’ll try. You got nothin’ to worry about, he’s a Venom Brother for a reason.”

“Are you sure?”

“Only if the Witch is the Goddess of the Dead. We’re fine, Cherri.”

And with that, Party hurried Cherri out of the Diner, out the door and out of the whirlwind of tension that was deteriorating piece by piece into something much, much worse was the clock ticked. 

Ghoul felt bad - Cherri came all the way out here and then he was just shoved out like that, after barely a few sentences because none of them knew how to process things and the trust between them was non-existent.

Well, Ghoul trusted Party, and he was pretty damn sure Party trusted him. And Ghoul thought Jet might have his back in a clap.

But Kobra?

Kobra would as soon ghost him as he’d polish his ray gun. At least, that was the impression Ghoul got, and Ghoul’s gut was...well, he had a tendency to be wrong, but whatever.

But this was Party’s little brother, and Ghoul wouldn’t deny that the pair had one of the closest bonds he’d ever seen between blood siblings in the Zones. He was hoping it wasn’t just the blood keeping them together, because - and he remembered whoever the hell had raised him telling him very clearly - the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

That brought back unwanted memories, though, so Ghoul snapped out of it before he could get too far into his head, back to a reality where Party was wistfully glancing down the hallway, too hesitant to go comfort his brother, where Jet was aimlessly wandering around the Diner booths, unsure of what to do, or maybe opting to get a better sense of depth from the way he bumped into three things on the ground and a table.   
_

Of all the times for Ghoul to be right, now should not have been the time. 

Yes, being correct was nice, but do you know what was not nice?

Kobra, standing in the doorway of the diner, red setting sun setting his background alight, snarling at his brother with bleach blond hair in his face - “So what? What do you want me to say? That I shot him? That I fucking shot Fallacy Fame in the forehead?! Because if that’s what you want then you’d be fucking right! He deserved it and you know it!”

That was not nice.

Kobra slamming his heel into the sand-coated tiles to pivot and turn out of view, that was not nice. 

And the still-bloodied switchblade thrown violently onto the floor by Ghoul’s feet, aimed elsewhere, was also not nice. 

Ghoul picked up the object, trying to maneuver without touching any of the blackened, flecking dried blood on it. He didn’t succeed; nothing in the world could stop him from grimacing. And Kobra kept this around with him? Had for about three weeks now?

“Execution style…” Jet murmured, the same thought echoing through Party’s head, not quite cycling through Ghoul’s but it was now. 

Fallacy Fame was shot in the forehead, execution-style, and Kobra Kid was the one to pull the trigger. But Cherri said there were reports of that same execution-case working with Better Living?

Who were they fighting? A zombie or a corporation?

The epiphanies seemed to keep coming, though. “Stun,” Ghoul whispered as it dawned on him. “His ray gun was on stun, I bet. Too...impulse to notice it. A ray gun on stun at close range can kill you...but he had Ember Blush, didn’t he? Maybe -”

“Maybe he did survive,” Party finished with his eyes squeezed shut, holding his palms to his eye sockets like it could help the wreck they were in.

They were wading through the wreckage of a mess they didn’t cause in the first place, and honestly? Jet and Ghoul had no reason to stick around for it any longer.

But seeing Party start to pace once again, Ghoul knew for a fact that they couldn’t leave, not now, not when Party was under enough stress to crack like glass and Kobra was unstable enough to cause an avalanche of chaos. A barrier that was very thinly being held together by self-preservation and Jet Star. 

“He’ll be back in a few hours…” Kobra just needed to cool off. Right. 

No one believed that. 

And yet, when the first tear dropped from Party Poison’s cheek to his wrist to the floor, Ghoul found himself praying to Destroya that Kobra came back soon. 

There was too much going on in the sibling department for Party right now, and no amount of bad-audio CDs were going to make it better, so Ghoul settled on a cautious hug, which was not reciprocated but wasn’t rejected, either. 

Kobra would be back. Jet was already trying to find something to do when he did, and Ghoul could see from the way Jet was looking at an old, outdated calendar with scrutiny over Party’s shoulder. 

Destroya help them. Destroya help them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this proofread? No. Is this accurate to my outline? YES, surprisingly! And ahead of schedule! Hope you like it! :3


	13. Can We Settle Up The Score?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison needs to stop getting sweet-talked into things. 
> 
> Something's wrong with Kobra and it finally comes to life.

“Kobra, Kobra stop,” Party pleading, his fingers aching from how tightly they were holding his gun. He was begging - it was pathetic. He didn’t care, he didn’t care how ridiculous he looked if it helped.

Kobra, his baby brother, his kid brother that he always had to look after, just blinked at him, no recognition in his eyes, but resent, a burning resent. Tilting his head to the side mechanically, Kobra laughed. 

Just as the panic swelled up in Party’s throat, Kobra raised his gun. It was his voice that came out - it wasn’t garbled, it wasn’t forced, it was him and it was burning with resentment. “Oh, Party Poison. I’m sorry that I can’t do that.”

“No you’re not!” Ghoul shouted from somewhere behind Party, but the sun shined directly in Party’s eyes so he couldn’t look back and Destroya, he didn’t want to take his eyes off his brother.

Rage in its purest form never ended well - look at where they were now. Kobra’s gun was aimed at Ghoul and Fallacy Fame was standing next to him, and all Party could do was stand like a target in the sun with his own weaponry lost in the sand and the Drac bodies. 

Party’s tears dried from the heat of the ray gun blast - it cut so close to his head his ear was burning and the stench of burnt flesh was revolting.

Party’s eyes didn’t waver when Ghoul screamed, his flinch plain to see, though. Kobra never dropped his gaze, shifting the aim of his gun. No longer trained on Ghoul. 

“Please,” tried Party once again; the way his voice cracked said it all. “Stop it… Stop it, please, you gotta, Kobes!”

“Like you stopped me from getting taken? Like you stopped Jet’s eye from getting torn out? Like you stopped Fallacy?”

“You can’t - that’s not - that’s not my fault! You need to stop, now!” It was useless. Fuck, it was useless, Party could tell that much by now, but he wanted it to work, he wanted to see that warm hazel come back to Kobra’s eyes and he didn’t care if it took a blaster to the brain for it to happen. 

“He’s not listening to you.”

Party was in no place to snap. His nose was most certainly red from all the tears he couldn’t cry, not here and not now, but he still had a shred of dignity and advantage. Fallacy Flame didn’t deserve his tears, his panic. “What do you want?”

“I’m just telling you,” Fallacy smiled, the same smile Kobra had except it was so sickly sweet and fake, fake, fake. “He’s not listening to you.”

It was a waste of breath to give Fallacy an answer. Instead, Party spat at his boots. “What did you do to him?”

“You’re not in any place to ask that, are you?” 

No Party wasn’t. But Fallacy wasn’t in nor held any power. Party still had a chance and he wasn’t about to beg on his knees. 

Even if Kobra hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger with Ghoul. 

So instead of pleading any longer, Party held his breath. There was so much adrenaline in his system he had to ball his fists to hide how much he was shaking. Was that the adrenaline or the fear?

Choking words out wasn’t going to help him. 

What else could he do? “What did you do to him?” Party asked again, decidedly not glancing toward Kobra. Or the gun barrel pointed to his forehead. 

Fallacy laughed. As fake as his last smile, no malice to be heard. Maybe that was because Fallacy was genuinely off his rocker now. Or did the City force modified pills down his throat, changed him? Did Party want to know? “I didn’t do anything. It’s what_ you _did. You caused all this. You caused him to be the way he is.”

“No!” That wasn’t true! Party knew that he knew this was something Better Living fucking Industries did and he wasn’t going to accept the rhetoric of a fifteen-year-old murderer Ritalin Rat!

“So you didn’t push me away?” Kobra all but snarled, taking a step forward to press that cold gun barrel to Party’s forehead. A reversal of what must’ve happened those weeks ago. 

You know, when Kobra supposedly executed Fallacy? 

_

##  ** _7 DAYS AND FOUR HOURS EARLIER_ **

“No,” Party said simply, crossing his arms and blocking the door.

The sun was hot on his back and his hair was starting to stick to the back of his neck from sweat, but he wasn’t moving, even with the way Kobra was glaring at him.

“Why not?”

Party snatched the bike keys out of his hand before Kobra could react or tighten his grip, jingling them in his hand. Not as a taunt, but as a statement. “No,” he repeated.

“I asked why not!” Kobra was agitated now, but Party didn’t particularly care.

Well, he did care, but it wasn’t the annoyance Kobra was experience, it was about the way he was reacting.

Hostile body language and tone, but that was about it. Quicker than he usually got angry but it wasn’t too bad. 

But Party wasn’t about to tell Kobra he was studying his own baby brother’s reactions like a lab rat. Instead, he said, “Because you’ve been on runs all week.”

“I was going racing this time, dipshit!”

Kobra made a grab back for his keys so Party held them higher and farther away, despite being shorter. Kobra was lanky but Party was concentrated stubbornness. 

“Too bad! C’mon, dude, we have to talk about things, okay?” It wasn’t a plea/ Party hadn’t sunk low enough yet to plead for anything, not from his baby brother, not when everything was technically okay right now. 

Kobra’s natural instinct was to make even more grabby-hands at his keys. It wasn’t working out in his favor. “I wanna race! Knock it the fuck off!”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like I’m your big brother and definitely have a say whether you’re allowed to act like an idiot and get away with it…” Party drawled. They were bickering, but it still had an unlying meaning of bitter, bitter, bitter.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kobra rolled his eyes. “Now gimme! We can talk ‘bout it when you’re, like, drunk or somethin’, I wanna go racing!”

“I already said too bad!”

“You’re not my mom!”

“Okay that was - that was not fair! One, I’m literally related to you and two, I’m the one who has the keys and you can’t stop me!” And with that, Party threw the keys out the door, somewhere into the sand and he was so going to regret that later, slammed the door shut and shoved Kobra back.

Not maliciously, it was just to get Kobra off of him. 

But Party could see the change instantly in the way Kobra was standing. 

It was hostile. It wasn’t just irritation. 

It was hostility, and Party didn’t miss the way Kobra’s hand ghosted past his ray gun. 

So Party changed his own demeanor. Right, he wasn’t doing this for bickering. He was doing this because… Because Kobra needed to be monitored. 

Party glared. “I said no, Kobra. You’re not going out racing. Go check on Jet or something, but you’re not going anywhere.”

Kobra glared right back, so much more volatile than Party’s and flipped him off. “Yeah, like I could anyway. You better find my fucking keys.”

_

To his credit, Party did go out and find Kobra’s keys - 27 was his pride and joy and it would be cruel to take that from him permanently. 

Was it really that bad of him to ask Kobra to stay home for once? Party didn’t think it was an unjust request! And maybe he was a bit aggressive in how he requested it, but it was Kobra who get hostile. 

Kobra was acting off. 

Yeah, Party had taken note of it before, but until now it hadn’t quite hit him. Kobra did need monitoring, he was right. He shouldn’t be going out until Party figured out what was wrong.

And he knew, he knew it couldn’t just be a phase or PTSD or something. It was something, he didn’t know, but it was! He wasn’t crazy! Right?

Ghoul wandered into the main area of the Diner just as Party came back in with a sigh, that stupid bell going off again. 

Before Ghoul could ask what his crappy mood was about, Party threw Kobra’s keys at his face - Ghoul caught them before they made contact, naturally. “Is tha’ why bastard blond stormed off ta Jet’s room?”

“He has a name, y’know,” Party mumbled. A wave of tiredness came over him like a tidal wave; it’d been a long time coming, he’d been trying to avoid it for a little over three days now.

It wasn’t… physically tired, it was emotionally tired. A nap or, hell, even a full day of sleep wasn’t going to help. 

It was tiring to deal with what he suspected was wrong with Kobra despite not being able to ask Kobra about it because then Kobra would get cagey and then he’d be even more on edge. 

And if Kobra was on edge, everyone else was arguably agitated.

As much as he hated to admit it, no one trusted Kobra. Maybe Jet did, but Ghoul had taken a quiet moment and slipped in the rest of the story, to patch together Jet’s point of view. 

Also, Jet fuckin’ Star deserved a hug, and many at that. 

“Party? Party, you’re zonin’ out again.”

“What?” Party blinked in confusion; Ghoul shook his head with a fond smile and repeated himself. 

“Oh. That makes sense. I guess. Yeah - yeah, that’s why he stormed off.”  
Now he had to choose his words carefully here. Ghoul didn’t need to make accusations before Party could even finish his sentiment - Ghoul had a habit of doing that and when the ‘bad’ person in question here was his brother, Party wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. “I told ‘im he should stay home for a change.”

“An’ he got hostile?” It was a guess. But it was a damn right guess, though, and Party didn’t like how uncomfortable he felt admitting Ghoul was right out loud despite having established that as much in his head. 

With a hesitant nod, Party didn’t provide any more context. Things were fine. Everything was fine. Kobra was home and Kobra was acting weird but he was okay and not dead in a ditch and Party could stop being so tired now because he did know where Kobra was.

Kobra was with Jet, maybe telling him another story, maybe nursing his eye injury. Or lack thereof?

Either way, Party knew where Kobra was, and Jet was stable; confined to bedrest, but after all he’d been through Party thought a good nap every few hours was exactly what Jet needed beyond a therapist.

Not like Jet was going to be trusting any doctors anytime soon.

Ghoul didn’t try to keep up the conversation; he saw the way Party was closing up again, going back into the world inside his head, and instead gently nudged his shoulder.

_ I’m here for you if you need me _, it said. 

Party didn’t need him, though. He needed everything to go back to normal and if his new normal was having to monitor his own damn brother and digging through the sand to find the keys that he threw out, Party was going to scream. 

Screaming actually sounded like a nice alternative. Maybe if he screamed into a pillow no one would hear him. 

The Desert was a large place, he could go find somewhere in the ‘Am that was nothing, nothing, nothing for miles and miles and miles around and the Witch would be his witness. 

That would be leaving Kobra alone with Jet and Ghoul, though. That was out of the question. 

But Party needed to do something, something to keep him busy, right now. Ghoul had walked away and he was zoning off so much that he hadn’t even realized - and he was getting antsy, shit. 

Nerves were a bitch.

They had spray paint though, right? There were a few cans in the back of the Trans Am and there were a few in the garage - Party didn’t know if those were empty or not but it was worth a try.

The Diner’s walls were covered in dirt and shelves to find a good wall to paint on with minimal effort. Party could see that much with a quick scan of the area. 

What else could he paint?

Something he could be able to reach, obviously… Nothing like a mural, he couldn’t focus on something like that right now. Maybe something in one of the back rooms? … No, no, Kobra and Jet were back there and he didn’t want to cause a ruckus. 

One of the ceilings, then? Shit, no, that would be a mural and again he didn’t have the patience for that.

Well then what the fuck!

Wait. 

The Trans Am!

Yeah, it was in need of a new paint job, right? The sun wasn’t good for the paint at all and the last month Party’s priority hadn’t exactly been to take care of his car. 

_

“Party? Party? PARTY!”

“Huh?” Party hummed, sure he heard his name but in no mood to turn down the music blasting through the modified BLI headphones loud enough to hurt his ears. 

But the bassline was familiar and comforting and fuck it, firefights were just as bad for his hearing, right? 

“TAKE YOUR HEADPHONES OFF!”

Could - Party looked up to check - Jet speak louder, honestly? Party couldn’t understand mumbling.

Then he noticed the irritated gesturing to his headphones and he thought, oh, maybe Jet wasn’t mumbling. 

“What’s up?” 

Jet nodded as a thanks for the headphones that were now sitting in Party’s lap, with a smear of turquoise paint across the band, unbeknownst to Party. “I was thinkin’ we could all go somewhere. Y’know, show everyone we aren’ dead.”

“Aren’t you still recoverin’ from the… yeah?” Party gestured vaguely in Jet’s direction, meaning his eye but you know, that’s not exactly something you bring up in casual conversation. 

Jet shrugged. “It hurts less than usual. I wanna see the Desert at its most alive, it gets boring here.”

Something about this said he talked to Kobra before bringing it to Party, because ‘Desert’, ‘alive’, and ‘it’s boring’ were keywords to Party’s heart and interest. Damn, he might’ve talked to Ghoul too.

Party still had to act like a skeptic. It was a bit difficult to take him seriously with paint splattered across the bridge of his nose, neon orange-and-purple freckles to overpower the ones brought out by the harsh sun outside. “And where would we go? It’s, like, the hottest part of the day, -”

“It’s midnight.”

“- And we don’t, uh…” Well, he wasn’t about to tell Jet what he thought about how odd Kobra was acting!

Sure, by now he trusted Jet, but Party still knew Jet was closer to Kobra than they were. It wouldn’t be fair to Jet to put that on his shoulders and it wouldn’t be fair to Kobra to take away the one person who actually talked to him like a ‘joy instead of a lab rat. 

He acted like a lab rat, dammit. How was Party supposed to trust him when he disappeared and lied to him all the time?

“Kobra’s gonna be fine,” said Jet blandly. 

Party blinked in confusion once again. Was he really such an open book? Ghoul did that same thing too. “Well, um. Where would we go?”

“There’s a concert down at Left Hall, right?” 

What a question. There was always a concert down at Left Hall, though Party had never been one for the mosh pit scene since the whole incident. 

So instead of saying any of that - and tentatively brushing his fingers along his neck and wincing - Party shrugged. “I mean, I guess. I don’t think it would help.”

He didn’t want to go.

“But it could!” Jet seemed so damn excited, though. There was definitely some scheming going on between Jet and Ghoul before this wasn’t there. “It’s a concert! That’s the ‘joy spirit down to tha’ syllable!”

“You don’t even know who’s playing!” There were always so many people at concerts. And he’d be shoved between all of them and even bright red hair doesn’t help at a Zones concert. Not when there’s an antsy, drunk crowd. 

He’ll be shoved and crowded and jabbed and someone could jostle his neck dear Destroya he did not want to go to a concert please let him get out of going to a concert tonight please please please please - 

“The Mad Gear And The Missile Kid!”

Of course it had to be a Mad Gear kid. For a guy who hadn’t been around people for about two years, he caught up too quickly for Party’s liking. Damn, did he have to repress that trauma so fast? Party really didn’t want to go to a concert… Even a Mad Gear concert.

Mad Gear concerts were the_ worst _. 

But there wasn’t any way he could tell that to Jet without Jet asking why, and Party already hated the fact that he had to live with such a fucking issue. So instead of saying anything he swallowed, forced a tight smile, ignored everything that could possibly go wrong, and nodded. “If we’re all going, I guess.”

“Sweet! I’ll go tell Kobes ‘n Ghoul!”

“We can leave once the ‘Am’s paint dries,” Poison mumbled, and if Jet detected any of the well-hidden misery in his tone, he didn’t say anything.

So that meant Party had until the time the spraypaint dried to gather himself enough for a concert. Usually, he could get away with hanging in back, because he liked concerts, really.

But Mad Gear shows were always more crowded and more energetic and it was hard to ignore the people when they were trying his damnedest to crash into him. 

And how was he supposed to keep track of Kobra in a crowd like that?

Shit, he didn’t think this through before agreeing, did he?

_

It was too loud.

That was the first thing Party noticed; it was too loud at Left Hall and even the engine of the Trans Am couldn’t drown out all the droning voices around him, the sound of footsteps on gravel, the drumbeats of the opening band. 

And they parked pretty damn far away!

But he was Party Poison, and Party Poison wasn’t afraid to go to the concert of his favorite damn band, so he tugged his collar up, twisted his lips into a fake smirk, and slammed the driver’s door shut. 

“Let’s go,” said Party, swinging his hips around and trying to quell the panic swirling in his chest. So many people. So much room for error. For incident. For someone to accidentally cause a panic attack or for him to lose track of Kobra or for Ghoul to pick a fight or - shit, Jet, why did Jet want to go to a concert when he was half-_ blind _? 

Whatever, that wasn’t his business. 

Ghoul, ever the silent walker (he did appear as a ghoul sometimes, next to Party out of thin air. It was weird.), followed behind him a bit too close for Party’s normal boundaries - but he didn’t mind. And Kobra was walking in front of Jet like he was anticipating something go wrong, a firefight to start out of nowhere.

Dammit, if anything bad happened Party was going to storm Battery City by himself and give the Director a handwritten letter of his distaste while rioters starting offing Dracs in the parking lot. 

So naturally, he didn’t notice when Ghoul took over leading their little group, passing the Carbons to the ticketer with a smile - it was only one Carbon for each person. The Zones believed music was meant to be shared with everyone, but musicians still needed a way to afford their Power Pup.

Party just needed to keep his head down until the concert started and he could get a bassline to replace his heartbeat. 

And then Ghoul squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile, and part of Party relaxed.

The rest of him remembered everything that could go wrong, as hundreds of ‘joys flooded through the entrance of the Left Hall concert venue - barely anything more than what used to be an amphitheater, once. Before the Helium Wars demolished it into little more than a broken stage and crumbling walls. 

It was relatively stable, though. The last time anything collapsed was a Blackberry Jam concert where the outer West wall’s bricks fell and hit a few ‘joys. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Ghoul murmured by Party’s ear as he tugged Party up near the stage, elbowing people out of the way and ignoring the curses that were sent flying. 

Jet and Kobra were somewhere behind them, right? Did he already lose his brother? Shit, shit, no - 

“He’s right behind us, look, you can see, ‘kay?” said Ghoul, still murmuring, but Party let a nervous laugh out as he realized Ghoul was on his tip-toes to do that. And he did glance back to find Ghoul was right - there was Kobra and Jet, laughing about something.

Maybe this concert would be fine after all?

No one had accidentally bumped his neck, and if they had touched his jacket he hadn’t realized it. He was… He was okay. He wasn’t panicking and he wasn’t being jostled around, though this was an opening band and half the crowd hadn’t shown up yet.

But Ghoul was right next to him and Ghoul was holding his hand so things were okay, right now, and Kobra was okay and Jet was okay, too. 

Or as close to okay as any of them could get at this point. 

_

Of course, everything would only go wrong when Party was starting to think it might go okay. 

Of course, the one to take the microphone out of Mad Gear’s hands wasn’t a Draculoid or a Crow - everyone knew no BLI authority could ever try to get into Left Hall, not with how much music was weaved into the bricks keeping it together. 

Of course, the voice he heard was none other than the nasally, high-pitched tone of Fallacy fuckin’ Fame, grinning right down at him from the stage. 

“Sorry for interrupting your show, Killjoys, I know how much you love Mad Gear,” Fallacy said, pacing back and forth across the stage, but he was still looking directly at Party. “But I’ve got an announcement to make.”

Mad Gear himself was standing in the background, bewildered; Party was paying just enough attention to see when two white-sleeved arms reached out and clamped a hand over Mad Gear’s mouth and dragged him out of shit.

Murmuring broke through the crowd. So Party wasn’t the only one who saw that?

But the attention turned back to Fallacy when a screech rang out through the venue - the microphone banging against the floor, Fallacy’s hair falling into his face as he stood back up. “There we go. Now, please, don’t be alarmed. _ 0-1-0-0-1-1-1-1 0-1-1-” _

“What the fuck is he saying!” Someone in the crowd shouted, and the murmurs turned into shouts and shouts turned into Party holding his head and trying to keep breathing right because he couldn’t look at that neon green hair and he couldn’t listen to all the noise and everything was fine everything was okay everything had to be okay, was Kobra okay did he know where Kobra was?

_ “ _ Don’t interrupt me!” Fallacy snapped, throwing the microphone to the ground and disregarding the way some of the crowd flinched violently at the volatile sound, before picking it up again. “- _ 1-0-1-0-1 0-1-1-1-0-0-1-0 0-1-1-1-0-0-1-1. _There. That should be about right, shouldn’t it?”

Party was still holding his hands over his ears and staring at the sand-covered ground with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t do this. Not right now, he couldn’t do this, this wasn’t how this night was supposed to go, it was supposed to be fun and Party was supposed to be, well, partying.

Fallacy Fame was not supposed to be here. 

Fallacy Fame wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near him or his brother and he was not supposed to - 

Party looked up with venom in his eyes. His head was pounding from all the adrenaline that had started running through his system, his body shaking, and none of the loathing he felt was hidden as he glared down Fallacy.

But all Fallacy did was wink at him. “That’s my cue to leave, crash queens. I was only here for that.” 

For what? To rattle off - to rattle off numbers? Who the hell interrupted a damn concert so… peacefully and played off the confusion just to shout out some numbers into a mic and act smug?

That didn’t make sense, there had to be a reason for it!

And why had no one shot that bitch already?

“Bye-bye, crash queen,” Fallacy told him - and it was directed at Party, no doubt about it. 

And before Party could even think to gather himself enough to grab, let alone fire his ray gun, a bright laserbeam broke through the air and smashed into the already-fragile beam beside Fallacy’s head. 

With a chant of “Two truths a fuck-you!” Party watched Left Hall completely dissolve into chaos. 

The only thing he could do was try and find Ghoul as the first colorful blasts singe through the air and were met with - with white blasts, shit, that meant there were Dracs here and, and, and - 

He found Ghoul’s hand. Or maybe Ghoul found him, but either way, they were both tumbling to the ground and trying to keep under all the laser beams without getting trampled to death and Party was tripping over his hands as his brain struggled to process the situation further than, follow the stage wall, follow the stage wall. 

Follow the stage wall, and then hopefully find an exit.

Follow the stage wall, but make sure his blaster was clutched tight in his hand as he crawled and pray Ghoul was next to him or behind him because he couldn’t see anything other than what was directly in front of him. 

Follow the stage wall and forget about everything he fears. Death doesn’t wait for fear and this was a Death Disco through and through. 

Party didn’t notice the end of the stage wall until he hit his head on some stairs leading up to the stage. Shit, okay. 

Looking around him, they weren’t in the midst of the chaos, thankfully, but stray beams did hit over here and they’d - Ghoul was still behind him - need to crouch but it wasn’t a suicide escape. 

They were going to need to blend in with the others, because Party wasn’t looking for trouble. He couldn’t handle trouble, tonight.

Party signaled to Ghoul - on three - and glanced toward the East wall a good twenty feet away from them. 

Ghoul nodded, and Party held his breath as he counted. 

One. 

A flashbang went off somewhere to the right of Party.

Two. 

More screaming; he wondered how many bodies would drop and what stories he’d hear at the Nest.

Three!

Darting out from behind the relative safety of the stage wall and through smoke from ray guns was proving harder than it should’ve been; Party tripped over something that felt like a body and when he looked down there was blood staining his boots that wasn’t his. 

But he made it to the East wall. 

He made it to the East wall, and that was something; he was still clutching his ray gun tight and Ghoul was behind him and he was missing Kobra and Jet but… 

The fear wasn’t so bad, anymore.

It didn’t feel like fear. It felt like the adrenaline from the fear was turning into something else, and he didn’t hesitate to pivot on his heel and hit a Drac dead in the chest as a blast missed his arm by a few inches. 

One Drac out of the dozens that were here.

And hundreds of pissed off, music-driven killjoys with death wishes and revenge fantasies.

Yeah, everything was going to be alright. Still, Party muttered for both him and Ghoul to survey the area and see if they could make out the rest of their crew in the chaos, but he didn’t know if Ghoul heard him.

No, he didn’t see Kobra, but he did suppose this was… This was where he had to trust Kobra. 

And firefights were beginning to feel like home, and since Party didn’t like that at all he shoved his ray gun back into its holster and made a sprint to where he thought the doors were.

Most ‘joys were too preoccupied with the Death Disco to make a run for it. 

Maybe it wasn’t very ‘killjoy’ of him, but Party couldn’t see any more death, not today. He didn’t want to go to this concert in the first place and now he knew why. 

There would be reports all over the Station that he was a coward and he run. He knew there would be. 

So instead of leaving like he intended, Party glanced between the exit - within five feet of him, it was so damn close - and the patch of ceiling connected to the North wall above the stage. 

It was barely holding onto anything. 

“Hey Ghoul,” Party mused as Ghoul caught up to him, slamming into his side and nearly throwing him off balance, “D’ya have any bombs?”

Ghoul didn’t seem to understand. “Uh, yeah, a few small ones in the trunk’a the ‘Am.”

“Perfect. Do they have timed detonation and do you have a slingshot?”

“Who the fuck carries around a slingshot?” 

“I don’t know!”

“...Actually, I do, nevermind, it’s in my backpack,” Ghoul muttered, tapping Party on the shoulder twice to say he was going to go get said things. 

Alright, now while he waited Party had to keep from dying. Easy-peasy, right? 

Well, losing most of his moral compass as he pulled his gun out of its holster again was easy-peasy; picking out the Dracs from the killjoys in the moving cesspool of death and blasters and neon, neon, neon was less easy-peasy and more,_ let my aim stay true _ and any other prayers he could think of in the moment.

The shots he let out hit their mark as far as he was concerned; Party was more concerned with hitting any white-clothed stragglers who wandered away from the firefight. 

And Kobra said he didn’t have good aim!

“What d’ya want me to do with the fuckin’ slingshot and bombs?” Ghoul shouted over Party’s shoulder, but Party didn’t so much as flinch, seamlessly taking the slingshot from Ghoul and placing his ray gun in Ghoul’s hands. 

And then he took the bomb, pointed up at the piece of ceiling, and nodded. 

Ghoul got the message and started darting and sprinting his way forward, into the crowd, shouting out things that were lost to the chaos.

Party could take a guess. Something like ‘Maggot babies ‘n crash queens it’s time to hit the red line, ‘cos this place is about to go Bubblegum Town and it ain’t gonna be No Costa Rica for long!’. 

Zone slang was there as a ‘fuck you’ to BLI and because it was nearly undecipherable to Dracs and Crows, with how contradictory it could be. 

The ‘joys seemed to get the meaning, and they started pulling themselves away from the fight and putting distance between them and those BLI-affiliated. 

Party gave it until a count of five motorbaby’s and started aiming. 

Time to pray Ghoul knew his explosives and somehow miraculously had them set for exactly what Party needed because he knew shit about bombs save for the fact that they went boom. 

He aimed for the crack he saw along the corner of the ceiling, directly above the stage. 

He hoped he could do this three times - he had three bombs - and it would collapse. Or else all it would really cause is a minor upset. 

Party took a deep breath, and let go of the rubber band. 

For a bomb, it was pretty damn light and Ghoul had an oddly long-distance slingshot; it didn’t quite hit the fracture line but it hit close enough. The impact sent the bomb off - it shook the ground beneath Party’s feet as he aimed the next bomb, but it didn’t make anything collapse save for some dust. 

Deep breath. Let go. 

It hit directly on the fracture line this time; a chunk came down on a group of three or four Dracs, but there was still so much white, white, white to counter the neon and Party didn’t hesitate to aim the last bomb despite the tremors still going through the ground. 

Pray. Deep breath. Let go…

The bomb didn’t hit the fracture line at all. 

Party’s breathing stopped, he failed, he _ failed, _before it detonated. It wasn’t on the fault line, no, but it was near the edge and it sent pieces of metal and concrete falling down. 

He didn’t have the time to admire his handiwork before he had to turn around and run and pray to Destroya and the Witch for the millionth time tonight that his crew was okay. 

There were killjoys everywhere he could see through the dust, all trying to get out and save themselves. All trying to stay away from the debris because Left Hall was known for being unstable but with the ceiling collapsing it might all come down. 

Party’s pretty damn content he parked so far away from Left Hall now.

He’s already got the engine running and the sand out of his boots by the time a battered Kobra Kid drags an equally as battered Jet Star into the backseat, and he’s already circling around the collapsing building waiting for Ghoul by the time he sees the stupid fucker standing on the roof of a car whose hood got crushed by something, waving his arms around like an idiot. 

Party said something of that nature to Ghoul when Ghoul hopped into the car, and the radio is spitting nothing but static, it’s silent, and then…

And then they’re all laughing? 

Even Party was laughing, and he was supposed to have his eyes on the road - shit, they were on Route Guano, maybe, but his face hurts from laughing and he keeps having to blink his eyes open to stop them all from crashing. 

Kobra’s in the backseat, laughing, too, holding his sides and wiping the dust off his forehead. 

They’re all laughing, dusty and covered in sweat but laughing and alive and - and it feels nice. 

Until the laughter faded out. 

Then it’s just a comfortable silence; or maybe it’s uncomfortable, Party didn’t know, but he did know that knowing these stupid three fuckers around him were alive and that was enough. 

The radio between them all started to crackle to life, but it was just Dr. D’s report. About Left Hall, naturally. 

They were all laughing too much to even listen to the first half the broadcast. 

Fuck yeah, fuck BLI and they guessed fuck Left Hall! 

“Sh - shut up I wanna listen to it!” Jet had to shout at them all to get them to at least attempt to quit their laughter; Party’s sides hurt and his mouth was damn sore but it was worth it. 

“- And the fabulous fuckin’ killjoys themselves were there. You may know them as Party Poison, the Desert’s crash queen, the Kobra kid, the Zones’ best motorbaby, Fun Ghoul, ya neighborhood bomber, and a new ‘joy we thought dead - Jet Star, best dust angel you ever seen.”

They all glanced at each other, grinning at Dr. D’s nickname. 

“So the Fabulous Killjoys, huh?” Ghoul asked, staring out the windshield with a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

“I think I like the sound of it,” Kobra hummed, messing with Jet’s curls in the backseat to get the drywall and dust out of it. 

Party took his eyes off the road to look at the scene. “Guess we gotta stick together, then. The Fabulous Killjoys _ does _ have a nice ring to it.”

Jet laughed. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.” 

And that was that. 

_

##  ** _ONE WEEK AND THREE HOURS FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER_**

“Trouble on your left!”

“Well, what the fuck am I gonna do about that when I’m drivin’?” Party huffed as he twisted the steering wheel of the Trans Am; sand splayed across the windows and fuck if Party even knew which way left was, but Jet could figure it out as he unrolled one of the back windows to get a visual on whoever the fuck was chasing him.

Based on the quick look Party took out the rearview mirrors, smacking his bubblegum, it was a van a few motorbikes with Dracs.

Fuck. Not too many of them; that was good considering the ‘Am didn’t have much gas left in it and burning it as this speed wasn’t good. 

“Kobes, you take the ones on the right,” Party asked, flicking in the direction of the passenger seat Kobra was in. “And Ghoulie, stop fuckin’ messin’ with yourself back there and get on the Dracs!”

“Fuck you!” Ghoul shouted, but he did so as he grabbed his ray gun and rolled down his own window. 

See, they were getting somewhere!

Maybe they wouldn’t die! How wondrous. 

The Dracs on the motorbikes were taken out easily enough, though Jet mostly tried aiming for the van’s glass considering his vision was a little… yeah. Kobra slid back in from the sunroof but Party was feeling cocky and arrogant.

“I’m gonna pull over,” Party announced quietly, braking too quickly for the engine (or the tires)’s liking, already half out the door by the time the car came to a halt.

He wasn’t going to take the keys out of the ignition, a van like this could only hold seven or so Dracs a most, it wouldn’t take too long. Right?

“You’re a fucking idiot~!” Ghoul sing-songed, horribly off-key as he climbed up onto the ‘Am’s roof with a ray gun and his Frankenstein mask over his face. 

Party rolled his eyes, grinned, slipped his domino mask on, and waited until the Drac van stopped to pull his gun out. 

“Party fuckin’ Poison, brother ‘o mine, you know me so well,” Kobra hummed, being a dramatic little bitch and sliding over the hood of the ‘Am with his blaster in hand. 

Jet just got out of the backseat like a normal fucking person. 

The Drac van stopped, but no one got out. 

It was anti-climatic, to say the least. 

Then Kobra started screaming. His bloodcurdling scream broke through the air as he fell to the ground, clutching his head and tearing at his hair, dropping his blaster somewhere in the sand.

Party would’ve ran to Kobra’s side had everything in him not screamed that it was a bad idea, he needed to worry about his van.

All that confidence wasn’t there anymore.

Instead was a fear that he swallowed back, as one of the backdoors of the wan swung open and he saw a few Dracs pouring out the sides.

And, finally, neon green hair and its matching nightmare.

With grit teeth, Party calculated his chances of getting out of this alive if he just started firing. 

He had a decently high chance, but his baby brother who was on the ground writhing in pain and screaming? Not so much. 

Instead, Party glared Fallacy down as the latter leisurely ambled his way over, dragging his thumbnail over the white paint on the van. “So. Party Poison, here again, huh?” 

“What’s happening with Kobra, why is he screaming!” demanded Party, baring his teeth like an animal.

“That? That should stop in about… three… two… one…” Fallacy smiled - and right on cue, Kobra stopped screaming, stopped whimpering.

But the way he stood up, not bothering to wipe away his tears was robotic, like he was learning how to function all over again. 

“I’m not the one you should be worried about, Party Poison,” said Fallacy, that smug grin still there, still as nerve-crawling as before, and started spouting off that same series of numbers he had at the concert. 

And when Fallacy turned, the last ‘one’ falling off his lips. 

Party noticed the change immediately. 

The change in Kobra, that is. The way his head snapped up, but it wasn’t with warm hazel eyes, it was cold and calculating and Party could tell immediately that_ this was not his brother _.

His brother didn’t aim his gun at him.

His brother would never walk over to Fallacy Fame and stand among the ranks of Draculoids and a murderer. 

But whoever was wearing the face of his brother did. 

_

##  ** _INCIDENT: CURRENT _ **

It was safe to say Party Poison was not having a good day, at all.

In fact, Kobra putting a gun to his head really dulled the cocky attitude he had earlier. 

Where was Jet? 

Party didn’t know, but he was trying to focus on anything, anything that wasn’t the cold way Kobra was looking at him. Maybe Jet was helping Ghoul, or maybe hiding. 

“Kobra, please.” The words were empty even to Party. He had two options here: go along with whatever Fallacy was planning right now, because it certainly wasn’t to kill him here, or fight back and pray he could fight both Fallacy and Kobra.

If it was anyone but Kobra he would’ve taken the risk with no questions asked. 

But he knew Kobra. Kobra was a damn good fighter and that’s why he always carried around both his switch and gun; if he got into a fight and his opponent got too close. 

Would he be able to win against both Kobra and Fallacy? 

Party didn’t swallow out of fear, but Fallacys smirked at him just the same.

And then Party jerked his head away from the barrel of the gun and reached up to twist it out of Kobra’s grasp, throwing it far away before anyone could react.

But human reaction time was a bitch and he was barely back on his feet before Kobra was throwing his fist and Party had to twirl out of the way, reminded about Fallacy’s existence only because of the kick to the ribs that sent him reeling.

The pain flared through his rib cage but he didn’t have the time for that, did he? The answer was no and Party sprinted to maintain a distance, where no punching or kicking of any kind could occur. 

Kobra was snarling at him, but he was being blocked by Fallacy, who didn’t even have his gun drawn. Cocky motherfucker. “Jus’ look at your precious brother now. Look how far all your trouble got you.” 

“It started with you and it seems it’s gonna end with you, too, fucking bastard,” Party spat. 

“Just as it should.” 

Or maybe it wouldn’t end with Fallacy, too. 

But Party kept that grin to himself as he realized he had no clue where Jet was because Jet was still conscious and he’d managed to get behind Fallacy and Kobra. 

‘Joy slang didn’t quite work when you were facing off against two other ‘joys. 

But Party nodded ever-so-slightly up to the right, and Jet gave him a thumbs up in response as Fallacy droned on and on about whatever delusion it was this time. 

It was Party with the smug smile as Jet knocked Fallacy on the back of the head with the butt of his gun hard enough to knock him out. 

And then it was Kobra’s turn to be knocked out but Kobra was too damn quick for his own good - 

Party would’ve paid attention to whatever was going on there if he wasn’t running back to help Ghoul. Shit, shit Ghoul was fucking shot by his brother was he okay? 

… No.

The answer was fucking no because Ghoul was bleeding and shit, of course, there was sand in the wound and fuck if Party knew how Jet was fairing fighting against Kobra but Ghoul was passed out cold and Party didn’t have the capacity to focus on both of those things.

First off, get Ghoul back to the Trans Am. 

He was too light but it was difficult to carry him without blood getting on Party’s jacket; it was a stomach shot, nothing vital Party didn’t think. But if it got infected… 

Then, turn his attention back to - shit!

Party fumbled to grab a ray gun - the closest gun, he didn’t know where his was (it was Ghoul’s that he grabbed) and shot without any regard to where it landed so long as it wasn’t didn’t hit anyone. 

The blast ended up hitting the sand near Kobra’s foot, but it was enough of a distraction to get Kobra to drop Jet from the chokehold he was in. 

And while that gave Jet a chance to catch his breath while Kobra momentarily turned his attention to Party, it didn’t give him enough of a chance to get his bearings and tip the scales in his favor. 

It did give him enough time to throw sand in Kobra’s eyes. 

And shit, sand in the eyes sucked and everyone knew that - Party knew that it would take a moment to come back from that so he ran over before Kobra could open his eyes. 

If it was wrong to knee his brother in the nose, then sue Party. 

His brother was going dark and it wasn’t like he broke his nose, he just… hopefully knocked him out. 

Party swallowed hard as he caught Kobra before he could fall to the ground - “Jet, you okay?” 

“As - as good as I’m gonna get,” Jet panted, leaning over to catch his breath more. Without Party having to ask, he took one of Kobra’s arms to help him up. 

It was by total accident that Kobra’s hair moved in just a way that Party saw the brand, still red and angry raised skin. 

“What the fuck?” Party muttered, tentatively using his free hand to brush away anything else obscuring his view. 

Why the fuck was there a brand on his brother’s neck? 

“They made him into a weapon,” Jet mumbled, but neither of them kept the conversation up as they dragged Kobra back to the car.

It was obvious Jet was right. And with Ghoul passed out, no, why thank you, Party did not want to talk about it. 

What did that have to do with branding him? How… how long had Kobra been dark? What did that fucking coding have to do with it - did it activate it or some shit? 

Physically having to restrain Kobra in the backseat with the few supplies they had in the trunk (though Party was starting to think they kept fucking everything they owned there). 

The Kobra Kid was dark and fucking branded. 

Fun Ghoul was passed out in the backseat from a sand-filled ray gun wound. 

Jet Star was sitting silent as a mouse in the passenger seat, holding his eye with his palm.

And Party just had to keep driving and hope he found a savior somewhere along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about a day or so early but it's a treat to - well mainly myself! Writing Art & Gasoline is an oddly familiar comfort in my life and it's really nice to share it with anyone who reads it, too! So...yeah, here's your bi-monthly chapter of A&G! What'd you think?


	14. You Can Run Away With Me, Any Time You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet Star has some questions for Kobra Kid. Kobra Kid has some questions as well.
> 
> Fun Ghoul's always thought of the place in the Fog Line as his getaway. But Party Poison is someone he's okay sharing it with.

“Hey, Jet, you think you can take over watch duty?” Ghoul hummed.

Jet sent a glance toward Kobra, who was currently duct-taped to the Diner’s radiator in the back room, unconscious and covered in about all the blankets they own. 

And then to Party, passed out next to his brother but on the floor, no blankets on him whatsoever. 

Kobra had been passed out for the last two days. Party wasn’t taking it too well, obsessing over how it had to be something BLI did to him, something Fallacy did, it couldn’t have been because of Party injuring him. 

Ghoul was sending the pair of brothers the same worried glance, though it was more directed toward Party than Kobra. Most likely because Ghoul had been in fight-or-flight ever since, hell, the Death Disco, let alone the firefight. 

Naturally, he didn’t trust Kobra too much. Jet didn’t...know if he trusted Kobra, either, but he had that hope, and he was using that hope to pray that Kobra wasn’t going to screw them all over.

Funny how he prayed to a deity that let him suffer for two years in a containment facility, unable to save himself until a starry-eyed blond came in with too much passion and anger for his own good. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Party needed the break from it all, and besides, Jet wanted to see if he could wake Kobra up - and if he could, if he could get Kobra to act like himself again. “D’ya think he’s going to let me, though?” 

That was the big question. The new routine they had in place was Ghoul and Jet sharing a glass of water while worrying about the two brothers in the corner, with one clinging to the other like a lifeline. 

Ghoul shook his head. “Of course he’s not. He needs to take a break, we both know it. You’re gonna have to take my word for it, but I think I can get ‘im outta the Diner for a little while.”

Oh, like Jet wanted to take Ghoul’s word for anything. But he did have to remember that Ghoul did help them all at the Death Disco, and Party trusted him, and Party didn’t trust anybody easily from what Jet could see. 

Ha, what he could _ see. _

With a secretive smile to himself that Ghoul wasn’t allowed to see, Jet mulled over the fucked-up joke. He wasn’t used to telling himself jokes, but he’d gotten into the habit ever since the accident. 

In fact, he’d gotten into quite a few fucked-up habits since the accident. 

It was a horrible idea to even want to go to that Mad Gear concert. Jet had known the moment Ghoul even suggested that maybe they could go somewhere that he didn’t want to go to a concert.

So, naturally, that was the first thing he suggested. Missing an eye, being completely blind in one eye - Jet’s sense of balance and direction was all but gone, and he knew that he hated anyone walking on the right of him. 

What a great idea to go to a Mad Gear concert, right? 

And then, losing sight of Kobra and Ghoul and Party in the crowd? 

Yeah, it wasn’t Jet’s proudest moment, but he went and hid. You couldn’t blame him - no one could blame him. He was blind in one eye and so terrified of going back into that cell that - that he didn’t know if he could even stand to see the white blasters, let alone a set of Dracs. 

It was only by luck that Kobra found him when Ghoul called out about the whole place going Bubblegum Town before Party brought down the whole place - Jet hadn’t heard the announcement at all, he would’ve been crushed. 

He was sure a few ‘joys were.

But in the euphoria of being alive, the elation of being in a firefight and surviving to see another sunset, that’s what kept Jet going. That’s when he started making those jokes to himself, about his sight, because hey, he could see another sunset. 

It was a good way to cope. It was better than sleeping on a cold tile floor next to your unconscious brother in the hopes that he’ll wake up and everything will be better, at least. It was better than obsessively building bombs in the garage because he didn’t know a good way to take out all that restless energy, at least.

Destroya, what a group the Fabulous Killjoys were.

They were a group now, he supposed. After the Death Disco, when Party agreed that Dr. D’s sarcastic commentary had a ring to it, they all took to the name, like it could bind them together. Like having a name, or maybe just a crew, could keep crowns on their heads for the rest of time.

It didn’t, of course, seen in what happened to Kobra. But this was the darker side of crews - Jet had seen it before.

These were dark times, and if they fell apart? Well, then the Fabulous Killjoys would be no more. Jet didn’t want that to happen.

He wanted Kobra to get better, he wanted to figure out what was wrong with Kobra.

He wanted to take Ghoul’s word that he could knock some sense into Party, but Party didn’t like him, and Party didn’t like leaving his brother alone for any amount of time. It was getting a bit obsessive. 

But… Jet did want to see if he could somehow make Kobra get better, wash away some of whatever it was that was making him go dark like this. 

Yeah, he was gonna take Ghoul’s word for it. 

Jet looked him up to tell him so but belatedly realized that Ghoul had walked away. Probably to go find something to distract Poison enough to get him out of the Diner, which was going to be an accomplishment on Ghoul’s part if he pulled it off.

For now, Jet had to sit and wait for Ghoul to whisk Party away. It’d give him time to go over what he wanted to say to Kobra because he was going to wake Kobra up with a slap if Kobra didn’t wake up soon.

It was reasonable! One, Kobra could handle a slap, and two, Jet thought it was well-deserved after Kobra legitimately tried to strangle him. 

And when Ghoul came back, Jet didn’t even have the time to ask what his plan was before Ghoul was at Party’s side, shaking him from his sleep and whispering words into his ear that Jet couldn’t see.

Jet could see that Party was fighting it. 

A bit more tense, Ghoul tried again. It was odd watching his body language - it was usually generally tense and hostile, but around Poison it looked more protective and open, but just as tense.

A confusing mix of feelings? Yeah. It was, and Jet wasn’t even the one experiencing them. He was glad.

Nevertheless, Party eventually stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and slinging an arm around Ghoul while Ghoul walked him out of the Diner, to whatever whimsical place Party had been promised. 

It would be a miracle if Party wasn’t back in an hour cursing Ghoul’s name to hell and far beyond. 

Either way, Jet still had that hour. And he had no idea what he was going to say to Kobra, what he could say to Kobra, but Jet walked over anyway. 

Slapping Kobra was good therapy. That is why you don’t try to strangle people after switching sides like one of those bad action flicks Jet used to watch with his mom and brother, down in Newsagogo’s station. 

It still took Kobra a moment to wake up. Which was bullshit, but Jet would accept it because Kobra started to stir, groaning.

“You need any water?” Jet asked. He could at least be civil because at the end of the day Kobra was his friend and beyond that, Jet owed him more than anything he could repay. 

That’s about when Kobra snapped his eyes open, no regard for the brightness of the Diner. “Where the Hell am I?”

What…? Kobra knew where they were!

“Don’t play that game. Why’d you do that?” There was a list to go down.

And maybe the only reason Jet was being so casual about it was because they’d had two days - Party had been attached to Kobra the entire time, and Ghoul was just Ghoul. It all felt too normal.

Too much like Kobra hadn’t tried to kill them all. Like Kobra hadn’t shot Ghoul and strangled Jet. 

Kobra glared at him, baring his teeth - then the handcuffs keeping him to the radiator rattled and Jet realized he was struggling.

That wasn’t good. 

Everyone knew that those restraints weren’t going to hold Kobra, they were mostly there because they couldn’t risk Kobra waking up without any of them realizing in the middle of the night or something.

“Where am I?” Kobra snarled again, struggling against his bonds once again.

The look in his eyes was anything but joking. 

Looked like, no, Jet was not giving him water, and no, he didn’t get to be nice.

“That’s classified,” Jet shrugged, sitting back. Destroya, it pained him to keep such a neutral expression.

Well, that was a bit of a lie. His eye hurt less when he had a neutral expression, but the dull pain was quickly becoming something he was accustomed to. 

“I _ asked  _ where the hell I am!”

“And I gave you an answer. Tell me, Kobra Kid -”

“That’s not my name!”

“What the hell happened to you? What did Better Living do to you?” A bit of an abrasive way to start things off, but what else was Jet supposed to say? That everything was alright? 

If he were to say that, it would be to himself more than anything because Kobra clearly wasn’t up for conversation. Meaningful conversation, anyway.

Jet bet it had to do with that brand on his neck. It had to play in somehow; they’d done the same thing to his brother and he’d never found out wherever the hell they took him. 

It could be played off as paranoia, but Jet had spent two damn years as a prisoner in an all-white facility, he was allowed to have some paranoia and maybe even clever accusations every once in a while.

“Better Living didn’t do anything! Now tell me where the Hell I am!” Kobra shoved against his restraints again - it wasn’t Jet’s best moment, but he pushed Kobra back.

Jet could hear the way Kobra’s shoulder slammed into the radiator, but Kobra didn’t even wince. Who the Hell didn’t wince with that? Radiators hurt!

This wasn’t his Kobra. This wasn’t the Kobra that Jet knew, even if he was wearing Kobra’s face and had his voice. His Kobra wouldn’t work with Fallacy Fame, even if the refusal got him killed.

His Kobra, the Kobra knew, had always been branded. But it wasn’t like this.

It was a spiral effect.

Worse and worse and worse Kobra got, until he wasn’t Jet’s Kobra, until he wasn’t Poison’s little brother, until he was less than willing to trust Ghoul.

You know, the one he shot?

“You don’t know anything, do you?” Jet asked, instead of saying any of the things swirling around in his head. It was better that way, wasn’t it? 

Kobra glared at him, something cold gleaming behind the hazel in his eyes. Something that Jet knew for a fact wasn’t supposed to be there, because his Kobra was all warm hazel and trust issues. 

Not cold lying and aggression.

Jet made his decision then and there: this was not the way to help Kobra.

Kobra had saved Jet’s life quite a few times, and he’d saved his own skin enough to know that Kobra was more than just a Fabulous Killjoy: he was a soldier.

Children, teenagers - they weren’t meant to be soldiers. But Kobra was. Kobra knew how to not lose that hope that kept them all alive ethorugh the night, and he knew how to fight long after he fell to the ground.

If talking to him, pleading with him, was only garnering aggression, then this wasn’t the way. It had to be something more than conditioning, because Kobra would fight against it if it was. It had to be something physically altered about it, not something in his head.

Kobra could fight the demons in his head.

It had to be something with the brand. Jet kept thinking about it, and every single conclusion he was drawn to involved something about that brand.

It wasn’t any use talking to Kobra.

So Jet sighed, took a breath, mumbled something about needing to go get something, and left the room.

He couldn’t gather himself for too long, because it would give Kobra too much time to think, and Kobra was a clever bastard at the very least.

What should he do? What could he do? 

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to want Party out of the Diner. At least Party would be able to make a decision, something concrete. 

And maybe Jet wouldn’t agree with whatever decision he made, and maybe Party wouldn’t either, but at least they’d have a plan of action, some way to know what they should do whether it was a good or a bad thing. 

Jet looked up, opening his eyes to see the odd-colored ceiling of the kitchen. That was never cleaned, was it?

That wasn’t the point. The point was, he came to a decision. While Jet hated the decision, it’s what he needed to do.

If Kobra managed to get out those handcuffs, if he managed to get out of the Diner, Jet didn’t know what he’d do. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack except the needle was very dangerous and knew karate. 

Kobra had saved Jet’s life so many times.

But the guilt Jet felt when he walked back into the booth area, to see Kobra still glaring at him faded away almost instantaneously. The best course of action was to make sure that they still had Kobra to fix him in the first place.

Well, Jet didn’t want to use the word fix. But what other words could he use?

“Sorry, Kobes,” he mumbled, standing stock still. 

The inquisitive look Kobra gave him, so much like his Kobra, so unlike the cold glare, made Jet flinch.

And after the fact, Jet’s knuckles stung. 

Kobra was knocked out again, though. He’d be sporting a nice bruise on the temple soon; Jet just had to hope that he hadn’t given him a concussion. Poor kid had enough going on right now and he didn’t even know it. 

There was something physically wrong with Kobra. Jet knew it. He just had to find proof.

He was betting he could find the connection if he were to, say, find a file. 

He knew a Killjoy who could help with that. Hopefully, she was still kicking.

_

“Where are we going?”

Party had his arms crossed, slouching in the passenger seat because he hated sitting shotgun, but Ghoul wouldn’t tell him where they were going. It drove him crazy, and Ghoul knew that.

Ghoul rolled his eyes, oblivious to the eye roll sent his way. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, dumbass!”

“I’d prefer to know where we’re going!”

“You sound like a prepubescent girl on a road trip, dude. I’ll drive us back and never tell you where we were supposed to go.” Ghoul wouldn’t actually do that, of course, because he’d asked Jet to take watch duty for a reason.

Look, Party needed some Vitamin D in his system, and that was saying a lot considering they all lived in a Desert with enough sunshine to kill the largest ocean. 

Party was silent after that, most likely debating on all the possible places they could be going. But it was somewhere that Ghoul knew Party would never guess because little to no ‘joys knew about one of his favorite spots to get away from the world.

That was probably because it was considered No Man’s Land, but oh well. Technicalities and semantics.

A place was a place, and Ghoul had only thought it was haunted like five times. He’d come to the conclusion that the Diner and the Station were tied at about fifty-four for the different things he considered to be haunted, so his getaway spot was doing rather well in comparison. 

It took a few hours - with static playing behind the silence, of course, because no self-respecting Killjoy would ever have their radio off, whether it was static or not. A radio always had to be tuned to a station and playing, even if it wasn’t your favorite DJ or even if said DJ got ghosted.

It was either leave the radio on or pray the Witch saved your soul because you’re not going to make it through the night.

The tension radiating off of Party was obvious, though, as Ghouls spotted a line of fog coming up in the distance.

The Fog Line.

The division between the Zones and No Man’s Land - a line of fog that blocks off all the nothing outside of Zone Six. There were rumors that the ruins of Zone Seven were beyond the Fog Line, and that the Fog Line used to be on the edge of Zone Seven.

Ghoul didn’t believe that, though. No natural phenomenon he knew about could shift placement like that. Then again, he grew up in a wasteland as an orphan without any formal education. 

“It’s okay. We’re stoppin’ before the Fog Line, don’t you worry,” Ghoul hummed, keeping his eyes on the road. He noticed the way Party leaned toward him as he spoke like it was his voice entrancing him, but it was most likely that Party needed the reassurance.

“We shouldn’t be this far out,” said Party, staring straight ahead. 

“Is that a feelin’ or worry ‘bout Kobra…?” It was difficult to tell with Party. And considering Ghoul was wrong about damn near everything his intuition said, and he’d learned to start going against it, Party was the one who always knew if something bad was going to happen.

It was creepy. Not like Ghoul could complain, seeing as it had saved his life a couple of times, so there was that. 

Party shook his head like he was shaking all the tension out of his body. “I...dunno. It’s getting hard to tell the difference.”

“That’s what family does,” Ghoul shrugged, accidentally swerving.

He righted the ‘Am quickly, but luckily they were already damn close to where they needed to be. 

Since the entrance to the...Ghoul didn’t have a name for the place, because the name was long faded off the dramatic entrance sign, but he knew that underneath it the text had what he assumed was a slogan and the phrase ‘amusement park’, so that’s what he assumed his hideaway was called. 

Either way, the entrance was so close to the Fog Line that it was difficult to make out from a distance, but the way the sunlight glinted off the metal and the oddly rocky terrain made it clear to Ghoul he was in the right place.

It wasn’t a good idea to take the ‘Am through the rocks near, almost covering, the entrance. Ghoul was much more gentle and forgiving to the breaks than Party was.

And when he closed the door after he got out, Party was looking at him over the roof like he was crazy.

“You said we were stopping before the Fog Line!”

Ghoul refrained from shrugging a second time. He hadn’t technically been lying; they did stop in front of the Fog Line. “And we did.”

“Then - then where are we going? There’s nothing around!” Oh, Party was sounding to start angry with him rather than tense and frustrated. “I am not standin’ ‘round ‘n looking at rocks with you!”

Without Kobra in his direct sight, Party was a lot more hostile and emotional than Ghoul was used to. Not that Ghoul could blame him. 

And, being perfectly honest, they were going to go beyond the Fog Line. But the amusement park was fenced off long before the Fog Line ended. So they’d be in the blanket of fog, not past it. 

“It’s not - it’s nothin’ dangerous, Cherry Bomb. Trust me on this one?” 

Damn, Ghoul sure was using the word trust more often than not lately. It’s not like he completely expected Party to listen to him - Party was the most stubborn person he’d ever met if he wasn’t counting himself.

But Party gave him a long, hard look, and eventually sighed, murmuring something under his breath as he pushed his hair behind his ear and slid over the hood of the Trans Am to walk with Ghoul.

Party was dramatic, clearly. Ghoul had to say, it grew on him.

“Close your eyes!” Okay, now that was pushing it. Like Hell Party would ever agree to that; not knowing where he was going and being led by someone else, who had to touch him to guide him.

Unless, of course, they were in Zone Six, where a total of one Drac has ever been reported. Unless, of course, it was Ghoul who was guiding him.

And so, that’s how Ghoul ended up guiding Poison by the shoulders, navigating the both of them through the rocks and chunks of random concrete that littered the ground, right up until they were just in front of the entrance.

The sign above the arching metal entrance was long since faded if you didn’t count the slogan, but beyond what Cherri had once referred to as ticket booths were, the fog let you see just enough of the park to fall in love.

Because the Fog Line didn’t start until about past what Cherri had called concession stands and bathrooms placed at the front. 

You could see the old booths, some of the toys littering the ground above the sand. And there were some metal monstrosities that twisted out from the fog, only to curl back into it about forty feet higher.

Ghoul slowly dropped his hand from Party’s eyes, saying he could open then and then dropping his arms around Party’s shoulders, clashing them in front of Party’s heart.

Party didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Party seemed just as entranced in the sight of the amusement park as Ghoul was. 

It wasn’t like Ghoul could see Party’s eyes when he was standing behind him on his tippy-toes, but Ghoul was willing to bet that Party had that sparkle back in his eyes, that had disappeared during that Death Disco. 

Destroya, that already felt like ancient history. They had so many worse problems rather than a concert gone Costa Rica.

But the amusement park? The amusement park didn’t care. The amusement park was exempt from problems, from - from time.

“There...there isn’t sand…” Party mumbled.

Ghoul swung around Party to stand by his side, to see the way Party’s hazel eyes widened. “Yeah! I think it’s ‘cos of the fences ‘round the place, but… Yeah. It’s not Kansas.”

“Everyone knows Kansas isn’t  _ real. _ ” Did...Party just made a joke? And was he smiling?

Ghoul stared at him for a moment, a grin slowly forming on his face. Party made a joke for the first time in days! Party was smiling! He played along, subtly taking Party’s hand in his own to make a dash through the entrance. “Yeah, Kansas isn’t real. Maybe this isn’t real, either, and you’re up to your nose in the sand!”

The Desert’s definition of ‘no sand’ was more like a two-inch layer of sand rather than four-feet. Considering nothing in the Desert was completely void of sand, it was a damn near miracle. 

“What is this place?” Party asked, eyeing the twisting, rusted but not damaged metal breaking through the fog. Those ones were Ghoul’s favorite to explore - Cherri called them roller coasters.

Most of the stuff Ghoul knew about the place was from Cherri, who he’d brought out once to see if he knew anything. And Cherri did, of course, because Cherri knew everything pre-war.

“Some kinda tourist trap, I think.” It was a fun tourist trap, though. Or at least it was once, but it would’ve been fun and incredibly busy.

It was fun to explore it, jumping from each of the roller coaster supports. Ghoul liked jumping between the supports on the wooden roller coasters, if anything because they creaked more and sometimes they didn’t support his body weight, so he had to think quickly or catch himself.

Plus, some of them went underground, into man-built caves!

Party laughed, and if Ghoul had his choice, he would’ve gotten drunk on the sound. “Yeah, looks like it. I’d fall for it.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part!” Because while the roller coasters were, yes, Ghoul’s favorite part, they were just looking at them and not climbing on them yet.

And most of the amusement park was hidden by the Fog Line! To get to the accessible parts of the roller coaster, and all the other rides, they had to go into the fog.

Ghoul squeezed Party’s hand reassuringly as he noticed the way Party startled and slowed when he realized they were walking straight into the unknown; somewhere Party had always been warned about and never been in.

But while inside the fog, from what you could see, it was beautiful, and it wasn’t just because of the rusty, paint-flecked rides that creaked when you so much as breathed on them, or the way the advertisement banners around boxed buildings were torn and laid on the ground, but from the way the humidity got to them, not time, not sand, not war.

It was because of all the plants.

Ghoul didn’t know what the difference between the Zones and the Fog Line, other than that there was a mysterious fog, but within it was every kind of vegetation Ghoul could imagine that wasn’t cacti!

Plants sprouted up between the cracks in the pavement underneath Ghoul’s feet; burst out from the rusty levers that used to control all the attractions, between the popped-out eyes of weird metal character attractions.

Ghoul liked the one with the elephants, which is what they passed first. 

Both the small entrance and exit doors along the short, ancient red fence were fused shut - had been for years - so Ghoul grinned at Party and gestured to the fence.

Neither had said it was a race, but it was definitely a race to run up and jump over the fence, to reach the upraised, cloth-covered mechanical motor in the center of the small sectioned-off area. 

Ghoul was faster, but Party had longer legs than him and also cheated by kicking Ghoul’s hand off of one of the bars that connected the metal seats.

“Ha, I win!” 

“No you don’t! You cheated!”

“No, I didn’t! You just don’t know how to drink your Loser Juice!”

“Loser Juice - that’s - that’s not even a thing! Whatever! Race you to the log ride!”

Ghoul knew that Party had no idea what that was let alone where it was, but he also knew that he had to beat Party so he took off running, sliding down unsteadily from the elephant ride and hopping back over the fence.

And, to make sure that Party didn’t actually get lost, he waited for Party to jump - and somehow slip - over the fence and try catching up with him.

While Party probably couldn’t hear it, Ghoul giggled in between his taunts to his companion, to his friend, as they both tumbled through abandoned walkways of concrete and attractions - at one point they both tumbled to the ground and wrestled for a minute before Ghoul managed to scamper away - until they reached what Ghoul liked to call the log ride.

He didn’t actually know if that was what it was, but he did know that he was the one who touched the fake-barn’s old and icky red paint before Party.

“Hold - hold up!” Party panted, his steps clunky and exhausted.

Maybe he should start running more often.

“Come and make me!” Ghoul told him, still grinning, and darted into the doorless entrance to the barn. 

The water that used to run through the metal, man-made track had long since evaporated, or maybe simply disappeared, but Ghoul still swung down into it using the railings on the side.

Just like last time, he waited for Party to see him before he started running down the track, kicking off the side to give him better speed rather than turning like a, you know, average person.

At the very end of the track - which had moss growing in it alongside the other plants, which made it very, very difficult to run - it elevated.

Cherri had once walked the track with him and said that it used to have water flowing down it, and the little upraised rubber bumps in the mechanical system to pull the log boats up, and then the other side was a slide.

Ghoul was breathing too heavily himself, not used to running that much, but he waited at the top for Party.

“You’re a - you’re a dick, you know that?” Party shouted from about twenty feet back, not even at the elevation yet, flipping Ghoul off.

“And you’re slow!’ It was nice to bicker. It was much nicer to bicker rather than, say, obsessively worry about certain things. 

When Party finally caught up with him, jumping up using the rubber bumps as footholds, Ghoul didn’t run away this time. Party was glaring, but it was more fond than everything, if a bit concerned. Ghoul didn’t get why until Party said, “You shouldn’t be running, dude. Isn’t your shot still healin’ up?” 

Why did Party have to bring that up? It was the adrenaline of running that made it virtually unnoticeable to it, but the moment the words left Party’s mouth it flared up in pain underneath its bandages. 

Ghoul smiled at him, though. Party didn’t need to know that. “Nah, s’fine. I’ve had worse. Plus, I wanna try somethin’!”

“What is it?” Party was not good at fake-exasperation, Ghoul found. More excitement bled through his voice than annoyance, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to suppress his smile. 

Instead of telling Party, Ghoul simply took his hand for the second time that day, turned them both around to face the slide part of the elevated ride. 

It would’ve been a better, even romantic, view if there wasn’t so much damn fog. 

But it was called the Fog Line for a reason, and Ghoul didn’t linger on the thought before he jumped, making sure his heels didn’t catch the metal of the slide and instead that both he and Party fell on their asses.

And since the slide had less plants in it than the rest of the track, and it was much taller than two humans, and they were both wearing jeans, they both picked up speed as the slid, holding each other’s hand.

For the record, Ghoul reached the bottom first. Just saying.

“That’s the log ride!” Ghoul said excitedly, pointing up at the thing after they both climbed out of the track, through some rather large and thick vegetation, and back onto the path.

His side stung, but it was okay. Well, it better be, because Ghoul wasn’t going to let this night end because of some stupid injury that was half the thing they were trying to forget and ignore. 

“Where should we go next?” Besides, Party had that glow to him, the one that made Ghoul drawn to him. The one that Ghoul would always kill to see just one more time, where he was slightly sweaty but his cheeks were flushed and the freckles dotting his face became apparent, and his eyes were warm and inviting and just like home. 

Ghoul had accepted by now that in the short time period they’d known each other they’d became damn near best friends, half of a ride-or-die crew that somehow formed on accident out of a vengeful brother, a bombmaker, an ex-prisoner, and a kid prone to getting kidnapped. 

All too quickly, and yet it felt like ancient history. Family had an odd way of forming, whether it be in two months and too much arson, or three years and too little arson. 

They were all family, weren’t they? Even Kobra. But family didn’t exactly have to like each other, and they all still needed to learn how to work together, to unlock all those tragic backstories that he was sure they all had.

“I wanna go to my favorite place here,” Ghoul hummed. He raised his hand to try pointing in the direction they were going but belatedly realized that oh, his hand was entwined with Party’s. 

His expression must’ve been gold from the way Party started laughing, all breathily and somehow childish. It made him look as young as he really was. Ghoul liked that.

Ghoul never did get around to telling Party that his favorite attraction happened to be the tallest, most dramatic roller coaster - the one that peered out of the fog - but it was pretty obvious to see when they made it to the entrance.

There hadn’t been lines for a long, long time (though Ghoul always had wondered what would happen if he did try to turn the machine on), nor any safety announcements, so Ghoul led Party to the metal stairs next to the roller coaster track.

There weren’t any carts or anything on this particular roller coaster. Ghoul had never figured out where they went when all the others had them, but it was fun to jump from side to side, from the stairs to the track when he was walking up. 

The roller coaster, and Ghoul could imagine how they used to work, had an even larger, even steeper elevation and raised track than the log ride, by far. 

His boots slipped underneath him a few times when he jumped as if it wasn’t enough that he kept jumping despite all the pain that jolted up his system.

Luckily, he had both Party’s hand and the weird plants that were growing between the metal to catch him. It was like there was even less danger than there usually was climbing up the track.

Ghoul found he… he liked that. Danger was half the fun of coming up here, but walking next to all the ups-and-downs-and-turnarounds of the roller coaster’s course felt like...like fun when he was with Party.

There were a few loops that didn’t have any stairs, mainly because there were upside and people couldn’t walk upside down.

And beyond that, there were a few areas that were tilted at an angle, probably to provide even more of a vomit-inducing experience. Those didn’t have stairs either, but Ghoul started climbing through the beams and the tracks expertly when the pair of killjoys came across them.

Without helping Party, or even looking back at Party, Ghoul sat down on the outward-facing side of the track, that jutted out from everything else. He could see some of the park through the fog.

It was all abandoned, yes, but so untouched by war and Better Living fucking Industries. 

So full of color that would rather die with the park than let itself get washed away. The funny part was, Ghoul bet it used to be owned by dirtbags who only cared about money rather than safety.

He wondered if there was anyone in this park when the first bombs of the Helium Wars fell to the ground. Did the park protect them? 

“What’cha thinkin’ about?” Party asked softly, sitting beside Ghoul. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, half falling between the gaps in the metal contraption so one beam supported his back while the other held his knees up. 

Ghoul hummed; the first tune that came to mind was from a...a lullaby? Huh. His mom used to sing him that. “Thinkin’ about this park, I guess. It’s been here all these years.”

“There are some things time doesn’t apply to,” Party shrugged, shifting ever so slightly closer to Ghoul. Ghoul didn’t mind.

He liked the warmth Party gave off, anyway.

Some things time doesn’t apply to, huh? Well, time shouldn’t apply to Party Poison, Ghoul thought. Party was too amazing to detonate like all the other time-bombs Ghoul had met over the years.

Party was different. Party was special.

“Hey, uh...Cherry Bomb? Can I ask you a question?” 

It was unprompted. Ghoul was still looking out into the park, into the fog, because he knew if he were to look over at Party he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“Uh, sure? You don’t have to ask,” said Party, laughing slightly and sitting up, in order to hear Ghoul better. It didn’t help that for support, Party reached his arm around Ghoul to hold the track. 

Hesitantly, Ghoul looked over at Party out of the corner of his eye. Party still had that flush to his cheeks, a grin that could rival the sun in all the light it gave him. 

Whatever question Ghoul was planning to ask was completely forgotten. Instead what flew out of his mouth was “can I kiss you?” 

Party didn’t tense, didn't freeze up or accidentally fall off of the roller coaster out of shock. He’s silent for a few moments, and when the regret and suspension finally reached a crescendo in Ghoul’s chest, Party turned to him with that sly, cute smile of his and said, “Why not?” 

Ghoul supposed that was that. Consent was content. And… leaning in to kiss Party was just leaning over to press his lips to Party’s.

But it wasn’t. It was more, it sent Ghoul’s stomach swirls that weren’t just because of his injury. It was something that Ghoul didn’t quite understand yet, but what he did understand was that Party’s lips were somehow oddly soft and he was a good kisser.

It wasn’t a long kiss by any means.

Yet, Ghoul still pulled away breathless, opening his eyes to find Party staring back at him with wide eyes. 

“So...that was that,” Ghoul laughed, awkwardly; it echoed. Ghoul did not appreciate that it echoed.

Party nodded, slowly, managing to slide back to the way he was sitting before Ghoul requested to ask a question. “I… I guess.”

“What do...you think about that?” Ghoul wasn’t a very articulate person, not in the way Party was. He didn’t know if he could explain it if he tried.

Did he even know how he felt about that? Should he have done that? Party was...Party was still Party Poison, the one that Ghoul brought here in the first place, who stayed by Ghoul’s side so far. 

Smiled at him with that damn infatuating smile. 

Staring out at the park as well, it took Party more than a few minutes to speak. Ghoul was hyperaware of all the water that clung to the tracks from the fog.

“I… Think I have something to tell you. It’s not, it’s not what you want to hear but it’s something you need to hear anyway.” Party started off slowly, but by the end of his sentence, he was talking so fast and so quietly that Ghoul could barely comprehend.

But he did comprehend. An answer didn’t seem adequate, so instead Ghoul nodded and gestured for Party to continue at his own pace.

Something told Ghoul that he was about to be told something important.

“So you...You know, obviously, that I hate being touched.” Everyone knew Party hated being touched. It was a given - to Ghoul at least, considering he’d been on the receiving end of those threats more often than not when they first met. 

“And… And I think you deserve to know why.” It looked like it took so much from Party to choke the words out from the back of his throat.

But Ghoul didn’t need anything that hurt Party to admit. Party could go at his own pace; he didn’t owe Ghoul anything. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

Party shook his head vigorously. “No! No, no, I mean, I want to tell you, I’ve jus’... Never actually told anyone before.”

“Not even Kobra?”

“Especially not Kobra,” Party huffed, then stopped with a glare down at the ground. Then, he looked back up at Ghoul with something so vulnerable, yet confident in his gaze.

That was the gaze Ghoul was pastel for.

“I… Well. I used to work as an Android Girl. I needed the carbons.” Party didn’t look away when he said it, sitting back up to look Ghoul dead in the eyes. Daring him to judge.

Ghoul had no plans of judging, though. Ghoul used to work janitorial at Hyper Thrust when he was fifteen. He danced sometimes when he needed the extra shifts, though he liked everything else much better. Too scarred for that shit.

Without any sign of indignance or shock, Party continued, steadier, more even. “So, yeah. I worked as an android girl, managed to keep it from Kobes for years. Ever since we got out here. But...But one night I was workin’ - it was a party out in Zone Five I was at. I needed carbons to get Kobra a better blanket, ‘cos his jacket ain’t too warm an’ he woke up with purple fingertips the day before. The ‘Am wasn’t near as warm as it is ‘till we got the window fixed. So I worked a little longer that night. It was a mistake.” 

It was a story about tragedy; it was going to have a bad ending, and Ghoul could see a bit of what Party was starting to piece together. 

Still, Party had a way with words. Or maybe it was the way he strung all the syllables together, and the words he was saying could have Ghoul interested no matter what he was staying. 

“There was this...this guy. I used to wear pink Kandi ‘round my thigh, made it pretty damn easy to see what I was. He was large, I ‘member that, ‘n old. He bought me a drink. I - I watched them make it! I didn’t leave it unattended! No way it was drugged. At least, that’s what I thought. ‘N I didn’t drink enough to get drunk!”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Ghoul had heard of bartenders out in some parties that were more than willing to add date rape drugs directly to the bottle of booze if they were paid enough of a pretty penny. That way, the poor victim of the drink never even knew it was drugged. 

Those were the type of people that made Ghoul more certain than ever in his decision to always keep his ray gun on stun. 

Nevertheless, Party kept going after he took a breath. When a tear began to drip down his face, Ghoul wiped it away with his thumb.

Party was starting to get worked up, caught up in the past, so Ghoul made sure that Party could see exactly what he was doing before he did it. The smile Party gave him was pure gratitude. 

“So. Yeah. It was still drugged. But I didn’t realize that not before me an’ the guy winded up in one of the back rooms. He - he - it was fine at first, but then he - he -”

“Take your time, Cherry Bomb,” Ghoul said gently, determined to keep the tears from rolling down Party’s face. It wasn’t right to see Party Poison cry.

It wasn’t right that some bastard and pedophile - that was what he had to be, from Party’s description of him. Party was just nineteen, and this was years ago - made Party cry.

This time, to keep from seeing Party usually wipe his eyes over and over again, Ghoul put Party’s face between his hands, keeping it there. He repeated that Party could take his time. 

Party didn’t have to share any of this. And yet, he was. Ghoul appreciated Party trusted him enough for that.

And, by the sounds of where this retelling was going, he should be surprised and a bit startled about Party letting Ghoul kiss him.

“He kept...He was rough with me. Way too rough. ‘Till he - ‘till he grabbed me by the throat.” Impulsively, maybe subconsciously, Party reached up to claw at his neck, but Ghoul moved one of his hands from Party’s face to gently hold both of his hands to get him to stop. That wasn’t good for him, not at all.

Party’s eyes were closed and turned up to the sky when he continued. “And - and it wasn’t like a sexual thing. It was...it was clear he had plans to kill me, maybe get off on my corpse or something. So I… I panicked. I scrambled for my ray gun. I still think the only reason I reached it was ‘cos of the Witch. But I...shot him in the head and left. Delirious, I was delirious.”

Honestly, there was nothing Ghoul could say that could quite express the rage that was burning through his face, his chest and his heart.

And nothing Ghoul should say, because this isn’t his story. It’s long past Party’s story, too. 

But it is something Party shared with him, a piece of him that defined him for so long yet stayed confined within his own memory for years. 

The response Ghoul could formulate, after minutes of silence, was something about how perfect Party was, about how he was one of the strongest killjoys Ghoul had ever met.

What escaped his mouth, because he had a bad habit of not connecting his brain to his mouth, was, “Did you kill him?”

It was rare a blast to the head, with a ray gun on stun, would kill someone. It would give them brain damage indefinitely, but it didn’t kill.

Poison opened his eyes, looking from the fog and then back to Ghoul. Softly, shaking, he mumbled, “Yes. I checked his pulse before he ran.”

“Good.” 

No one was allowed to hurt Party Poison. That wasn’t something Ghoul could ever enforce, but he knew Party well enough by now to know that Party could show anyone that easily.

Party smiled at him again, genuine. Genuine, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Trips down memory lane did that, didn’t they? 

“You’re a hurricane, Party Poison,” Ghoul told him, believing every damn word that came out of his mouth. “An’ one day, I know you’re gonna show that whole damn City what you’re made of. Every last one of ‘em. And we’ll all be there for you.”

There were a lot of promises in that.

That they were all going to be alive to watch Party change things. That Party was going to be alive to do that. 

That Kobra was going to be a Killjoy through and through and stand by their side instead of against them. 

And yet, Ghoul believed every last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three days late? Yes, I know! However, I did want this to be a Quality Chapter, plus I had to binge-watch Scooby-Doo cartoons. That being said, was it worth the weight? What d'ya think! :D


	15. Life Is But A Trip For The Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet Star didn't know what he expected when he sought out an android girl in the Lobby without telling Party.
> 
> He damn well wasn't expecting who he found instead.

If there was anything Jet Star was tired of, it was being second-guessed.

He understood, of course. He’d spent two years in a Better Living Industries facility in a stark white uniform, and Poison and Kobra’s bond ran deep. He was an outsider.

While Jet was an outsider and he understood the distrust directed at him, Ghoul was also an outsider, and Ghoul sure as hell didn’t have the right to second-guess him.

“You...want to go down to the Lobby?” 

“Yes,” Jet said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. He knew someone down there who could help him, and if she knew anything, then it would doubtless be helpful. She always was.

At least, she was when Jet’s mom used to visit her about all things that could go Costa Rica. Destroya, Jet was willing to do anything to assure himself that he was going everything he could to make sure Kobra was going to end up okay.

“I don’t...think that’s really a good idea, Jet.”

“No need to sound so excited for me,” said Jet with a deadpan. Don’t deck Ghoul.

If anyone, he should be decking and quite possibly murdering the stupid neon-haired fuck that had started all of this. Couldn’t a single punch kill someone if it hit the right spot or had enough force?

Jet wanted to find out. But he couldn’t, both because he didn’t know where Fallacy Fame and because he knew that finding a way to make sure Kobra was okay was more pressing, and more important.

It wasn’t fair to Kobra to give Fallacy that much thought. That was what Fallacy wanted, and Jet had decided that he didn’t want to give Fallacy the satisfaction.

Ghoul sighed, running his hands through his hair with an air of stress surrounding him. “I just, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go off on your own.”

If it was the situation, Jet could understand it. But something had been different between Party and Ghoul ever since they got back from wherever Ghoul took him to get him off Kobra’s case. Maybe it was good, or maybe it was bad; it was hard to tell. 

“Then go with me.” 

Jet was going to stand his ground. He knew he was an outsider - it was made abundantly clear - but if there was anything Jet could do to help, he’d do it. Party wasn’t the only one who was grieving his brother.

That’s what Kobra had become after being the person to save Jet from his own prison.

Ghoul looked at him, with that stupid ever-suffering look of his like he knew what any of this was  _ really _ felt like. Like he knew what two years of imprisonment and being half blind felt like. “Look, I...I don’t want to leave Party alone, I’ll be honest.”

“Shove your honesty up your ass. I know this could help! And don’t we need all the help we can get?”

Kobra was a good person, Jet knew that. But he could see the way that the time they spent not doing anything about it was making it worse, making Kobra worse, making Party anxious, making Ghoul on edge. Making Jet pissed off because he knew they could do something!

“Well...I can’t just...lie to Party and I’m not gonna - tell him that we’re gonna go see about something that has to do with Kobra.”

Oh, great. A moral dilemma. Did they really have the time for this? None of them had the time to sit around and argue about morals when Kobra could very well be losing his own permanently. 

Besides, Party was back to being attached to Kobra’s (unconscious) side. He was napping, clinging to Kobra like a lifeline despite Jet knowing that Kobra would barely recognize his own brother at this point.

Yeah, Jet hoped Party wouldn't wake up to find that out himself.

“Don’t even tell him we’re leaving, then. He’s asleep, and he can radio us whenever, can’t he?”

“This is a horrible idea.” From the glare, Jet knew he’d successfully convinced Ghoul. Thank Destroya. Jet was ready to scream and yell about it, but that sounded a bit too much like Party Poison for his taste.

“Let’s go!”

It was best to get going before Ghoul could go too far into semantics or start questioning himself again. Jet had priorities, and none of them included listening to Ghoul’s trivial matters of thought when lives could be on the line.

Jet desperately, desperately didn’t want what happened to his brother to happen to Kobra. 

At least, what he thought happened to his brother.

_

“Destroya, if we run in’ta the Doc on your little Lobby escapade I’m gonna riot,” Ghoul mumbled, pouting in the passenger seat. Served him well enough.

Jet had never properly learned to drive, but it was pretty easy. It’s not like he had to use - what did his mom call them…? - Oh! Blinkers. It’s not like he actually had to use those; he wondered why the makers of old cars used to make them so complicated, with things you never even had to use. 

“The Doc?” Was Ghoul going to rope him into small talk? Jet did not want to engage in small talk. He’d never been good at it, and plus, the Dracs used to patronize him by trying to make small talk.

Jet didn’t like small talk all too much. 

“Yeah,” Ghoul nodded. “Guy I met a few years ago. Interesting character. Party ‘n I saw ‘im last time we were in the Lobby.” 

“Sounds interesting.”

It did not sound interesting, but Ghoul didn’t try to continue, and allowed Jet to focus on the road - or focus on swerving, but Jet was half-blind and honestly had no idea he was swerving.

You shouldn’t let the half-blind guy drive.

The drive to the Lobby probably took long enough for Party to wake up and noticed half of his crew and his precious Trans Am were gone, but no radio messages came through.

Ghoul paid the toll, and they started their descent, but no radio messages came through then, either.

Maybe Party was especially tired, or maybe Kobra had woken up and thereby woke Party up and they were in the middle of a heated, heartbreaking debate on who Kobra was and what he should stand for.

That didn’t sound like it would go down very well. 

Well… There was a lot of hope Jet had to have that this would work.

He had to hope that Red was still alive. He had to hope that Kobra wouldn’t wake up while they were gone. He had to hope that  _ anyone  _ knew what the hell was going on. He had to hope that it was reversible.

Hope was what made a killjoy afterall.

“Why did we even come down here?” Ghoul asked, both annoyance and interest painting his tone, but Jet couldn’t see his face considering he was walking in front of Ghoul.

It had been a long time since Jet had visited the Lobby. A lot had changed, but the chaos of the Lobby was ever-present. It didn’t have the same thrum of energy that it used to have, that everything and anything important was happening all at once and you had to  _ go go go _ to keep up with it all, that Jet remembered it having.

That was the feeling he got around Party Poison. Huh.

“We’re tryin’ to find someone,” Jet mumbled as an answer, reaching back with his arm to make sure Ghoul didn’t get lost in the chaos. Jet was used to leading Ayvan through the Lobby’s crowds, back when Ayvan was alive and his mom was alive and his life wasn’t a living shitshow.

“Aren’t gonna tell me who?” Ghoul didn’t seem surprised. 

Jet shook his head regardless, because he didn’t know if she was even still alive or not. If she was, Jet didn’t want to go asking around and name dropping and somehow accidentally get her into trouble. Names had meaning.

His brain is struggling to remember where to find her, where she used to hang out and where, hopefully, she’d still be. After at least two years.

Jet had known what pornodroids - android girls - were ever since he was a kid. It wasn’t something his mom tried to keep from him; there wasn’t a point. Red was a pornodroid - a red model, naturally. 

She used to tell them what was going on at any given time within the City. She’d tell them when they would need to leave, when it was best to stay in Neutral Towns and when it was safest to travel between the desert and the city. 

And now, Jet was going to ask for help. He wasn’t going to have fun answering when she inevitably asked where his mom and brother were, but they were with the Witch now. Kobra wasn’t with the Witch - Kobra was priority. 

“Upper Lobby District,” Jet said, when he finally realized that maybe he should give Ghoul a little direction, a little context. 

Red liked to hang out up there; some of the rich kids liked to hang out up there because they thought that hanging out in the slums was like rebellion. It wasn’t, but they paid well and Red always did need the money.

Jet never liked how Battery City treated their android girls. 

Ghoul nodded, and then he was the one tugging Jet along - which wasn’t fair, not in the slightest, because Ghoul had no idea who they were meeting. That, and Jet still cringed whenever anyone grabbed him like that.

Kobra had been getting better about that before he, y’know, went rogue, but it wasn’t something Jet was going to bring up to the ever touch-starved Fun Ghoul. Ghoul seemed to be the only one out of their little crew who liked cuddles and liked to be touched and didn’t have a violent touch aversion.

“You gonna describe who we’re lookin’ for, at least?” 

Jet wasn’t planning to, but he supposed it wasn’t name-dropping. “Uh, android girl. Red hair. Red ribbon around her wrist.”

“Doesn’t...a red ribbon mean a Juvee Hall that got caught?” Ghoul was suddenly much more alert, and fell back behind Jet, letting him take the lead again.

Ghoul wasn’t a city-born, was he? Huh. Made sense - Snow Storms rarely went into the Lobby; Jet was simply an exception to the rule. 

Jet nodded, and shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s why she wears it. It may have somethin’ to do with the cameras and the red of her hair versus the red of the ribbon, to confuse ‘em.”

“Aren’t android girls treated like they’re supposed to be real cozy with the CIty?” Ghoul was not satisfied by most answers, was he? Destroya, it was like trying to tell Party his hair looked bad!

“Supposed to be,” Jet sighed. “Now quit it, would you? We gotta find ‘er, not bicker.” 

“This isn’t bickering!”

“You say,” Jet started with a deadpan, “As you start to bicker with me.” 

_

Finding Red wasn’t the easiest task in the world; in the two years Jet hadn’t seen her, she’d moved from the Upper Lobby area down to near the middle, where there were more people during the day.

Yeah, he wouldn’t want to work on Battery City’s streets at night if he was her, either. He heard they got nasty, and that was before the Desert got as bad as it is.

Or was the Desert always that bad, and Jet was only remembering it as less dangerous because his mom tried to sugarcoat it? 

Ugh, he was not thinking about this!

Nevertheless, it took damn near two hours of wandering around without asking for help to find her. Maybe it was a waste of time or maybe it wasn’t, but Jet was going to find out. 

“So do you boys want?” Red sighed, leaning against one of the grimy storefronts, her black cape covering the revealing clothing. Jet wanted to give her a sweater, she looked uncomfortable. 

Jet sighed, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I was, uh...Wonderin’ if you could tell me somethin’ about somethin’ BLI did to one of my friends.”

“Drac mask? They’re not comin’ back,” Red said automatically, though there was sympathy in her eyes and Jet got the feeling that she was used to telling visiting killjoys things they didn’t want to hear.

Ghoul didn’t seem to have the patience to listen to Red answer questions not relevant to their journey. He must be spending too much time with Party; Jet could see the similarities when he stood back, in the way Ghoul stood with crossed arms. “Not Masked. BLI got to him.” 

“And what did they  _ do _ to him, sugar, ain’t that what you’re trying to ask?” Red seemed to have taken all of Ghoul’s patience. 

Jet wasn’t going to give Ghoul the time to snap. “Be nice, both of you. Red, this is Fun Ghoul, if you didn’t know. Anyway, yeah, like he said - BLI got to a friend of ours. He’s, uh, not actin’ right. Actin’ like a Drac or a Crow, but when BLI got to ‘em they didn’t do anything like that!”

“How would you know?”’ 

She wasn’t acting accusatory, but it dredged up memories Jet didn’t want to go through or process. 

Jet shook it off as best he could. Hey - his hair was starting to look the way it was supposed to again! Less matted, more curly. It was enough of an observation to keep him from spiralling. “I was with him when it happened.”

He hoped the look he gave her was enough for her to get the drift that she shouldn’t ask about his family. 

She didn’t, so he continued.

“Anyway, the only...thing we can think of is the brand on his neck. He’s a killjoy, but when they...brought him back to where they’d stuffed us, he had his own logo branded onto the back of his neck. I think it has something to do with what he’s been...acting like recently.”

Red stopped completely, staring at him. It didn’t look like she was thinking anything good. Then, she shook her head and muttered something too quiet for Jet to hear, reaching into one of the sewn inside pockets of her cape. “Destroya, I need a smoke for this shit…” 

“It’s that bad, huh?” Ghoul said, unfazed, but Jet could see underneath the blankness on his face. Ghoul was worried, too. 

Red nodded. “Worse than that. I’ve heard a case or two like this before -”

“You’ve heard about it happening before?” That caught Jet’s attention - of course it did. It was something! It was something more than Dr. D or Ghoul or Party could tell him and that was new, that was new and worrying and exciting all at once because they could have a real chance at fixing whatever was happening with Kobra.

“It’s not...pretty, Jet, dear,” Red told him, and she didn’t sound too happy about it. There was a cigarette between her fingers, not yet lit. “But, yeah. I’ve heard of a few cases of that happenin’ in some whispers ‘round here a while ago.”

“Are you going to  _ tell us _ those rumors?” Ghoul was definitely taking his confrontation pointers from Party now. That wasn’t a good thing.

“After I light my smoke.” It was that bad, huh? Jet didn’t remember her smoking that much. Stress must do that down in the Lobby. After she did, with a lighter she pulled out of the same pocket her cigarette came out of, she looked up at them with tired eyes. 

This wasn’t just some sob story to her, was it? It wasn’t another sob story, but it was another tragedy, wasn’t it? Red had more than her fair share of gossip under her synthetic lashes, Jet knew that, but how much? How much did she know that it would leave that much of a mark?

“You want your info? Here you go. It’s not gonna be fixable. He’s not gonna get better. They got a chip in him, an’ you can’t get it out without a specific surgery you can’t get down here or in the Zones. He’s jus’ gonna keep gettin’ worse and worse and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

That was a bit… heavy. 

It was heavy and there were a lot of accusations without a lot of evidence. That’s what Jet was going to go with, and he was afraid to ask for some of that evidence.

He swallowed, and asked for it anyway. “How many cases have you seen?”

“Enough to be credible,” she said smoothly. “This one case with some brought-in killjoy. He came in through the Lobby, up to the high rises, y’know? Caused some chaos with his gang but then he was caught. So color me surprised when he showed back up in the Lobby actin’ all fine and dandy, but he had this brand on the back of his neck. Then, one day, outta  _ nowhere,  _ he snaps! Causes enough damage that we’re still tryin’ to put the place back together. He’s been with the Crows ever since.”

Whoever that killjoy wasn’t Kobra though. It had to be a different case, right? Whatever it was had to be like the pills the City gave people - worked differently with everyone. Some were more susceptible to them and some weren't.

Jet was praying Kobra was going to manage to come back to who he was. There was something about the fear settled in the bottom of Jet’s stomach that he couldn’t quite understand - it was fear, he knew that, and fear for Kobra.

Beyond that, he didn’t know how to describe it. Worry and fear mixed with dread and a sinking feeling of the inevitable, mashed together like the mashed potatoes he used to watch his mom make.

Jet did not appreciate the mashed potato feelings in his stomach. 

Ghoul jumped in to say something so Jet didn’t have to, as Red took a drag off of her cigarette and blew the smoke away from the two of them, downwind. “How long did it take him to go full-blown Crow? Did his crew even  _ try  _ to save him?”

“They tried.” 

And that was all Red needed to say about that for Ghoul and Jet to get the message, from the way she lowered her gaze onto the cracking, dirty pavement. 

But Jet’s mind was set: he was going to save Kobra.  _ They  _ were going to save Kobra! It wasn’t an  _ if,  _ it was something Jet knew for certain, because he wasn’t going to let Kobra become as good as dead.

Everyone knew Party would rather fight the Witch herself behind an old gas station than even entertain the fact that his brother might be beyond saving. “So… The chip itself. It can’t be deactivated by tech?” 

“I’m a living piece of outdated tech, I have no idea what unreleased technology does.” Okay. Red had a fair point. Well, Jet thought she had a good point, but the tone in which she said it set the mood more than the words themselves. It wasn’t her job to know things for them. 

“We’ll figure something out,” said Ghoul. It was clear he meant to sound confident, but there was a hitch in the middle of his sentence of doubt that completely ruined it. “We’ll figure it out. I know we will. You’re wrong, y’know. We’re gonna save him.”

“You wouldn’t stutter if you were so certain.”

Shit, Jet could see the way Ghoul was tensing up, he was going to start an argument. Whether with him or with Red, that didn’t matter. There would be no fighting. Jet waved off whatever Ghoul was planning to say before either party could get a word in. “We’ll figure something out, Red. See you soon, I hope. And Ghoul - just because Party isn’t here doesn’t mean you get to try and take his place.” 

Ghoul gave him an eye roll as he waved good-bye to Red, and she gave a nod of farewell. 

Then, Jet sighed, as soon as he was sure they were out of earshot. “Destroya. Full-blown Crow? I don’t...Would that be…?”

“Don’t even finish your sentence.” There was a spark in Ghoul’s eyes, like a mirrored version of what Jet had become so accustomed to seeing in Party. 

Twin flames, Party and Ghoul. Or at least, they were learning to be. 

But the original twin flames the Desert had known were Party Poison and the Kobra Kid, and while Jet wanted to be certain that those flames could come back, he wasn’t so sure. He was  _ worried  _ about whether or not Kobra could be saved after what Red said.

Despite Ghoul’s warning, Jet sighed, looking at him through a slight glare, and said it anyway. “Would it be best to kill him now?”

“Unless you want to justify that to Party, then - then just - just don’t, Jet. There’s gotta be a way around blatant murder. I’m not murdering a kid!”

“You’re not that much older than him.”

“He’s still a  _ kid!  _ I don’t - he doesn’t even like me and I’m far from trusting him, but he’s Party’s brother and he’s a killjoy too and we can’t do that!”

“Calm down! I wasn’t saying that we were going to!” 

Oh, and Ghoul  _ totally didn’t want to ever spend time with Kobra.  _ There was something about spending time with the Kid that really made him grow on you; something about this childish innocence and softness to him that you didn’t get to see too often.

Then again, it was just as intriguing to see the way he could blow away a room with a switchblade. It was similar to the way Party could start a riot with a breath, but so much more destructive.

No one deserved to die like that, either. It wasn’t just because Jet was dead-set - and he  _ had  _ to be dead-set - on not killing Kobra.

There had to be a way to make it better.

And...and if Red was right...If Red was right then it wasn’t Jet’s place to make that call. If Red was right, then maybe it was selfish, maybe it was self-centered and cruel to Kobra, but Jet didn’t want to be there.

Jet didn’t want to make that call, and the way it made his skin crawl even suggesting it cemented that much. It wasn’t his place. His place was saving Kobra, and he wasn’t going to let even Red deter him from that.

There was another case of what was happening to Kobra. That meant that that person had to be a trial run, right? Like the first test? 

So what was Kobra? If there were only a few cases, could what BLI did to Kobra still be reversible, if the company was still trying to work out the kinks in the system? 

Kobra wasn’t a lost cause yet. 

“I...We’ve gotta find something. I’m not tellin’ Party that some droid in the City said we should just go around mercy killin’ a kid that clearly doesn’t who he is anymore,” Ghoul said, a note of finality that rang out between them, but there was something tired layered underneath that.

Something that said Ghoul wasn’t so dead-set on saving Kobra. He was as doubtful as Jet was, but he wasn’t keeping hope.

Fuck. 

“Let’s just… See if there’s anythin’ else to know while we’re here, yeah?” What else could they do? It was useless to sit around and argue. It was useless to mull over the advice given to them by a droid Jet hadn’t seen in years.

Wasn’t it?

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. We’ll see if we came out here for nothing,” said Ghoul, bitterly, crossing his arms, compared to the way Jet’s hands were clinging uselessly to his pockets, just something to do to keep himself busy and as non-hostile as possible.

Ghoul spending more time around Party wasn’t exactly the best thing, in some aspects. Paranoid bastards, the both of them, and with the way Party always rambled when he was overthinking, that might’ve started wearing off, too. 

So they started walking in silence, no further objective leading them, nothing to keep them going other than hoping they didn’t have to go back home and tell Party that the best option they could think of was to kill Kobra.

And, of course,  _ of course  _ they got themselves into trouble.

Well...It was more like trouble found them, really, because they technically didn’t start it.

It wasn’t  _ their  _ fault that the armored black truck driving through the street had oddly flashy mirrors and was oddly noticeable once you realized how out of place it really was.

Being killjoys, being rebels, it sort-of made it their job to follow it, right? You can’t just make something so oddly out of place and then not expect them to follow the glaringly obvious conspicuous truck!

All Jet and Ghoul had to do was share a look, and while neither of them were particularly well-acquired, it fell into place perfectly: they both watched the truck turn a corner, and then started to sprint, their footsteps syncing up. 

Why would something like that be travelling through the Lobby? It didn’t make sense. BLI didn’t have their claws too deep within the Neon District as a whole.

Unless….

Unless that truck came from the Zones. Shit, if it came from the Zones then it had to be interesting!

“The Zones,” was what Jet said to Ghoul, nodding to the truck they were chasing after, now at a more moderate pace to conserve their energy and to not get caught.

A grim expression crossed Ghoul’s face, and that was when the resignation and the determination started to come into play. 

Everyone knew that if a truck like that in the Zones, it was either after something, or it was a clean-up crew out there to grab the months-old bodies still laying in the body bags.

Those bodies usually still had masks and guns in them. 

And, if nothing else, Jet and Ghoul could reclaim those masks, or make a valiant attempt to, at least. 

The idea of dying didn’t startle them. The idea of dying didn’t quite come to mind, at least to Jet, because right now it was either focus on what damage they could or couldn’t do if they intercepted that truck, and how they wouldn’t have to go home empty-handed.

It was an unspoken promise that neither of them were telling Party about the encounter with Red. They weren’t telling him anything that he didn’t need to hear. 

But the allure of running started to get old after a little while. Because Jet was tired of running, both physically and in general, and Destroya be damned, he was going to kill someone if this stupid truck didn’t stop turning because crashing into people and running around corners was starting to grate on Jet’s nerves.

That, and damn it was weird to run when it wasn’t fear keeping him going. This time it was curiosity, and curiosity didn’t quite tickle the adrenaline glands in the same way. 

“It’s stopping!” 

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” The dry tone was lost due to the fact that Jet had stopped, leaning over to try and catch his breath. He wasn’t in the best physical condition, though that was likely due to two years with a serious lack of a work-out routine. 

“Ah, whatever, such a bad attitude,” Ghoul grinned, all pent up energy with a lack of an outlet now that there was something that wasn’t focusing on the current situation.

Jet glanced to where the truck was entering. A plain white building, not that that was surprising on its own, but at first look there weren’t any guards. 

The truck was waiting for the door to fully open.

That meant the door was slow, and it would take a while for it to close after the truck, right?

Was this a good idea? No.

But with the grin Jet mirrored back to Ghoul, they didn’t have to discuss how reckless they were being, and instead made a mad dash across the street to the truck; right before it fully entered the loading dock, Ghoul grinned, ever the show-off, and jumped onto the back bumper of the truck.

Jet would’ve said something about it, if they didn’t have to be quiet.

See, they were bound to be caught, and there was a digital lock on the back doors of the truck, of course needing a clearance card to open. How did Jet forget basic armored vehicle protocol?

Oh, wait. He’d never  _ seen  _ an armored truck up close. That’s right.

“Well, fuck!” Ghoul said cheerfully, hopping off the back of the bumper just as soon as he realized that the lock was there. 

Three. 

Ghoul decided to march up toward the driver side door.

Two. 

Jet murmured curses under his breath, rushing to find a crate or something to hide behind, for precious cover no matter how little, and took his ray gun out of its holster. 

One.

And that’s when the shouting started. Ghoul, from what Jet could see from behind the crate that was far too small to hide his large stature, waved cheerfully to the driver within the vehicle, and after a beat of silence, chaos ensued.

It always did around Ghoul. 

“How about you come help me!” Ghoul shouted, dramatically spinning around and pulling...two ray guns out? When did he get those? 

Wait, did he have those the whole time? Shit, Jet was so going to get jumped one of these days if he didn’t start getting more observant. 

“How about you not get up into situations we can’t get out of!” Jet bickered right back, hitting a Drac that spilled out of the passenger side and tried to unlock the lock on the back, all without getting out of his spot.

But that couldn’t last, because it was a measly excuse for cover and now the Dracs knew where he was.

At least Jet didn’t see any Crows.

What he did see, was Ghoul taking his sweet time to take out the driver and the third Drac crammed into the front of the truck, and the loading dock door closing with a  _ click. _

No alarms started going off. 

As if that wasn’t suspicious enough, when Jet looked around, he didn’t see any cameras.

Either they were walking straight into a trap, somehow, and some quick plans were made by faculty to execute that in the timeframe it took Jet and Ghoul to dispatch a few Dracs. 

Jet doubted that was the case, and carefully walked over oddly clean floors toward the Drac he shot; there was a keycard around its neck. 

Tentatively picking it up, he made eye contact with Ghoul and they both cautiously walked over to the backdoors of the truck, too paranoid about how easy it was to hijack whatever was going on.

Oh, like they forgot about how they had no way out.

Ghoul did legitimately have to hop onto the hitch of the truck, and then step onto the bumper, which was hilarious to Jet in hindsight, but he didn’t say anything.

The lock blinked white when Jet held the keycard to it. Jet didn’t know what he expected the change from dark gray to be, but the white felt anti-climatic. 

Ghoul shrugged when Jet looked up at him, and swung open the door opposite to him once Jet had gotten out of the way. Jet glanced inside of the trunk, only to find it was… it was the aftermath of a fire.

It was like...half-salvaged documents from a fire. 

Well, not half-salvaged. Most of the documents were completely charred, secured by a thick layer of...some substance that kept them from falling apart. It was like light blue silicone shelves encasing each document, preserving them, but most everything was too burnt around the edges to be legible. 

“What happened here…?” Jet asked, inspecting them. There was sand between some of the documents, immortalized in the substance. 

Looking over, Ghoul looked like one of those ghosts Jet’s mom used to tell him about. It didn’t work well with his skin tone, and Jet didn’t like seeing him look so...not scared, not startled, but...Jet didn’t know how to describe it.

It was like Ghoul was looking at more of a memory than at the scene in front of them.

“I...I think…” Ghoul started suddenly, stuttering, catching himself and starting over. “I think I know what happened.”

“Are you gonna share with the class?”

“Party Poison…” Ghoul murmured, stepping into the truck, ghosting the contents with his fingers, like he could physically show Jet the memory and the aftermath if he tried hard enough. He couldn’t, but Jet wasn’t going to ask, because this wasn’t the oddest thing he heard.

Ghoul continued, though, without prompting. “We - we found this facility, when we were lookin’ for you and Kobra. It was chalk full of files, paper files o’ killjoys and all ‘em. Everyone you’ve ever heard of, their file was there. I said we could do somethin’ with it, tell the Doc or at least find out why they had all the paper files. Party wanted to burn the place down. So...we argued, I left, and I assumed he burned the place down.”

“And you think these are the remnants of that?”

“It would only make sense. Where else d’ya think they’d keep paper files? Nowhere here. I still don’t know why they had ‘em out there, but it wasn’t like Party gave me much of a chance to find out.” 

“I think we should go now,” Jet said suddenly, tugging Ghoul out of the back of the truck. No time for more stories. 

The documents were being transported here for a reason, and Jet was starting to think that this was too easy; he was starting to think that if they stayed any longer he was going to find out something he didn’t want to find out. 

Then he remembered they didn’t have a way out. The doors were closed.

“And how are we going to do that?” Ghoul asked, echoing his thoughts, and took out one of the blasters he’d put back into its holster. He had two holsters. Huh. 

Jet was  _ certain  _ he didn’t have the both of those when they got to the Lobby. Did Ghoul steal them? Probably. He looked like the type, no offense. 

“With... a lot of luck?” Jet suggested, and it was useless, and he knew it. He had the keycard in one hand and his ray gun in the other. Some way out of here, they had to be.

He had a feeling it was going to be the front doors. Jet didn’t want the front doors - he knew there was going to be more trouble, but there was a sinking sense of destruction just waiting for him beyond the metal doors he spotted within the north side of the room. 

Maybe it was because he was expecting to see a long white hallway, and Jet never wanted to see another long white hallway.

Ghoul took the keycard from him without saying a word, not with how Jet was frozen to the spot and barely realized it, and Ghoul was the one who gently touched his shoulder to get him to start walking.

Keep it quick.

Keep running.

Keep the chaos to a minimum, and shoot first, don’t ask questions. Keep the firefight just that - a firefight rather than a death sentence.

At least, that’s what Jet told himself. 

They managed to get halfway down a brightly-lit, too-monochrome hallway before white-blinking alarms started going off, soundless and yet too flashy to keep Jet focused.

That’s when Ghoul started running, and that’s when Jet realized that his world was about to get complicated.

“Do we know how to get out of her?!” Jet asked, barely daring to breathe as he ran, too afraid that if he stopped for even a second he wouldn’t have a chance to even run for his life, that he’d be shot or captured or taken away  _ he didn’t want to be taken again! _

“For your sake I’m gonna say yes!” Ghoul grinned back at him, and when the first wave of Dracs started pouring through the doorway in front of them, Ghoul wrapped the keycard around his wrist and grabbed his other ray gun.

None of them were perfect shots, and Jet didn’t know how Ghoul managed to keep running with the recoil of dual-wielding, but the Dracs started to fall and Jet realized with dawning horror that they had to go through the door the Dracs came out of.

And they couldn’t turn around; they had to run into the hoard.

But it wasn’t fear that Jet needed to channel when he shot a few Dracs down.

It was the feeling of revenge, of righting the wrong that was done to him when he saw those stupid foot soldiers fall to the ground.

Jet was  _ imprisoned.  _

He wasn’t going to do that again.

The Director herself be damned, Jet wasn’t going to be a  _ prisoner _ again. He was  _ Jet fucking Star _ , and Jet Star wasn’t a helpless killjoy who elied on his mother anymore.

Jet overtook Ghoul in turns of running, but Ghoul barely batted an eyelash when Jet slammed a drac out of his way, enforce force to send it into a wall, using the doorframe as traction when he slid through the door.

Another wave of Dracs.

Jet took care of some of them, and maybe a few shots hit himself, but he didn’t notice and it seemed even dumb-as-rock Dracs understood that they were within too close quarters to fire ray guns, unless you wanted an ugly mess.

Jet bet that they were  _ ordered  _ not to do that.

Unfortunately for them, Jet had no such orders, because he was his own person, and he was starting to realize he didn’t care about how much of a mess he left behind.

They left him a mess. Stuck in a white cell for two years, with a dead mother and a dead brother always haunting his memory, even if he technically didn’t know what happened to them.

Jet  _ deserved  _ some retribution for that. 

_ He was going to get out of this. _

He almost did, too, following the Dracs out of where they spilled from until he came across two different doors - the unlabelled door, that’s the one he took. It’s not like he could read the label on the other one, he was running too quickly, too high on both his own adrenaline and his realizations.

And then, of course, disaster struck, but this disaster was in the form of a babyface with the same slate to his nose, the same eyes as Jet staring back at him.

Through the blaster in his face, that is. 

Ayvan. 

There was no hint of recognition to his eyes, but Jet could still see that it was him, his baby brother, because of how short he was and because of how he still had his curls. He still had his fucking curls.

Why did he still have his curls? 

“You’re...you’re my…” Jet muttered, uselessly he knew, and he knew it wasn’t a good idea considering his baby brother had a blaster to his face, but he dropped his own, trying to process that  _ this is Ayvan. _

“I’m nothing to you,” Ayvan snapped, something like a sadistic smile flashing across his face, but it was something too dark for someone so young. It was too programmed, too much like a computer program run just long enough to develop some semblance of humanity. 

Ayvan’s finger squeezed over the trigger just as Jet realized something else.

Just as Ghoul spun around him, knocking the blaster right out of Ayvan’s hands and kicking behind his knees to send him tumbling to the ground.

“Ayvan’s the case Red was talking about!” Jet said, not remembering and not caring if Ghoul knew what he was talking about or not.

There would be more Dracs coming, he knew, but Jet still dropped onto the ground as Ayvan tried to get up, winded, but Jet held him down. It felt wrong.

But what Jet needed to see was the back of his neck.

The brand. He was right. He was fucking right, and he hated it!

“Uh, hate to break up this little...reunion, but we gotta go!”

Shit, right, right, but Jet didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to go without Ayvan, because Ayvan was alive and what if they could save Ayvan like they were going to save Kobra? What if, what if, what if? 

Jet didn’t want to leave him there.

“We have to go!”

Jet  _ had  _ to leave him there, didn’t he?

He had to leave his baby brother, didn’t he? He had to leave him here, he had to leave him to the mercy of whatever Better Living Industries wanted to punish him with for his failure to kill his own brother, didn’t he?

Jet suddenly understood, in graphic detail, why Party was so determined to get Kobra back.

Why he wasn’t going to give up on him.

Party wasn’t physically  _ able  _ to give up on Kobra, but Jet - Jet had to stand up; he had to stand up, he had to run, he had to run before Ayvan got his bearings back and found his gun and then Jet would be the next experiment.

The prayer murmured to the Witch that Jet gave might’ve been lost to the chaos, but he was hoping that the Phoenix Witch knew that Ayvan didn’t want to be like this, that she knew he was just a victim like the rest of them were.

Ghoul hastily holstered one of his blasters, grabbing Jet by the hand to get him up to speed so they didn’t lose each other.

It was over too quickly. All the fighting and the chaos dissolved into blurry lazerbeams and noise. 

They were out of the facility, out onto the streets, no longer being shot at, but all Jet could think was that  _ Ayvan was alive  _ and Jet  _ left him there. _

He wasn’t the same type of brother as Party. Party could try to save Kobra, if their positions were switched, even if it got him killed.

But Jet left Ayvan there. Jet left Ayvan there because… because Ayvan wasn’t his brother anymore, at least not in the way Jet remembered him. 

Kobra was more like his brother than Ayvan was. And...and Jet was willing to do more to save Kobra than he was willing to save Ayvan.

Destroya, what type of person did that make him?

If Ghoul noticed he was shaken, he didn’t say anything, at least not out loud, but he holstered Jet’s ray gun for him, led him through the crowd, and only under Ghoul’s gentle touch did he realize that he was shaking.

What just happened? What was happening? Was Kobra going to turn out to like Ayvan? Could Jet keep him from that - could Party keep him from that?

What were they supposed to do?

According to Red...according to Red, they needed to get the chip out of his neck.

Was there a chip in his neck, or was that speculation? There...there was a light pink scar underneath that brand, hidden by the shock of Kobra’s snake logo, wasn’t there?

They couldn’t get that out with a Zones surgery, or even with a doctor here in the Lobby.

That, that they were going to have to tell Party. If Party hadn’t figured out how far gone his brother really was already. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this six days late? Yes. Do I particularly care? Yes but I'm trying to be cool, so I'm gonna say no. Hope you liked the chapter!


	16. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul's got guilt on his conscience. He's not going to lie.

By the time Jet and Ghoul made it back to the Diner, shaken to their core with make-shift bandages underneath their clothing to hide the nicks they got from the firefight, they’d both agreed that Party didn’t need to know anything about what happened in Battery City.

They wouldn’t tell him about Red or what she suggested. They wouldn’t tell him about how Jet’s brother was patient zero whereas Kobra was trying to work out system bugs.

They wouldn’t tell him anything, because… It was a bad and wrong thing to do, they both knew that, but Party was always holding the burden of the sky upon his shoulders. It would be cruel to give him more to process, to hold in his heart.

Ghoul would know. It was hard to get to know Party, because he usually wouldn’t let you, but Party had let Ghoul in.

It was a violation of trust to not tell him about Red’s advice. It was against everything Ghoul stood for to lie to him and say they’d found out nothing. Party wouldn’t just untrust him - Party would  _ scorn  _ him, and...Ghoul didn’t know if he could deal with that.

Party would find out eventually. He had to. Ghoul told Jet as much on their way back; only as they were pulling up to the Diner did Jet agree.

_ Eventually. _

Eventually was at least two hours off, and in the life of a killjoy, he might as well have had a century. The goal was to get inside the Diner and manage to get some disinfectant and proper bandages on his ankle from when a blast nicked them and burned both his laces and his ankle, all without getting an interrogation from Party.

Ghoul did not get an interrogation from Party. He didn’t even have to  _ try  _ to avoid that crash queen. 

So disinfectant and bandages aside, Ghoul fell onto the ground next to Party. Party was just sitting there on the ground, cross-legged, staring out the window like he was lost. Not at Kobra, who was the most mentally lost of all of them, but out the window, like the sun was going to give him answers.

“Are you okay?” Ghoul asked softly, leaning over, before wincing and remembering that wasn’t a good idea. Did you know that getting into firefights when your old injuries were still there wasn’t a good idea because the adrenaline kept you from recognizing the pain?

Ghoul did. Ghoul just learned that, in fact, for the thousandth time in his nineteen years in the Desert. 

Party exhaled air, too lost in his own world to answer. Too busy avoiding looking at Ghoul, avoiding looking at his little brother.

Prying wasn’t Ghoul’s favorite thing in the world, so he left it at that. If Party didn’t talk, then he didn’t want to talk. It was that simple.

But Party was  _ always  _ in the mood to talk. The moment that the sun’s light became blocked and diluted by some wandering clouds, Party’s gaze snapped toward Ghoul, tired and long-suffering and  _ lost.  _ “Where’d you ‘n Jet go?”

“Tried to figure something out,” said Ghoul, light and airy, praying that Party wouldn’t notice the hitch in his voice. He wasn’t lying. Technically, he wasn’t lying!

It still felt like a lie on his tongue, though. The words left a sour taste and the vulnerability in Party’s eyes almost made him spill the truth. But Ghoul had seen those eyes cry too many tears too many times, and when Party was ready to know, he’d know.

Party nodded.

Ghoul ghosted his fingers across Party’s face, barely brushing away the stray hairs that refused to be placed behind Party’s ear. Red fit Party. “Is everything okay back there?”

“He woke up for a minute,” Poison said blankly, lifting his hand to lazily trace the shape of the clouds beyond the dirty panes of the glass the Diner provided. “ _ He woke up.” _

“I...I’m sorry you had to see that,” Ghoul murmured, cautiously tapping the hand that was holding Party's weight.

There was no response. Instead, Party leaned back to rest against Ghoul, still tracing those shapes. Ghoul had his arms wrapped around Poison’s torso, to keep him steady and to remind him that he was  _ there _ , that no matter what happened with Kobra, Jet and Ghoul would always be there.

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same, not at all, but death was just another tradition in the Zones. 

Some ‘joys had upward of five dead crews to their name, and they still functioned - pouring enough grief to stain a mountainside, but functioned nonetheless… Would Party be able to go on, though, if he didn’t have his little brother?

If he didn’t have his murderous, snappy little brother?

“He told me that this is all my fault,” Party continued out of the blue. He didn’t sound angry, or indignant, or upset. None of the Party Poison that Ghoul knew was within those words; those blank, sad words. “It’s… It’s all my fault. He’s this way because of me.”

Party wasn’t the reason at all, though! It was because of the - the…

The chip. That Party wasn’t going to be told about. Right. Was it worth it to keep the secret, though, if spilling his guts kept Party from ever being that blank again?

“He’s...he’s not…” Was Ghoul going to say it out loud? That Party’s brother was just an experiment, another one of a bath made of the same chemicals and technology in different doses? 

No. He wasn’t.

Ghoul tightened his grip on Party, clasping his hands together so Party was fully encased in the hug. It wasn’t tight enough to be suffocating, but it wasn’t supposed to be. Ghoul knew better than that. “This isn’t your fault. You’re always trying to look out for him and make sure that - that he’s still with you. This  _ can’t  _ be your fault!”

“But I always make him feel like he’s not good enough, and - “

Maybe it was rude to cut people off while they were talking, but Ghoul didn’t care. “That’s just him being the little brother. You’re older than him and - let me guess - you brought him out to the Desert, right?”

“Yeah? How does it matter?”

Ghoul sighed. “Well, it means that you brought him out here. You were the one who finally had everything together to bring him out here. And you made a name for yourself before he did. It’s not surprising that he feels like he’s not doing as much as you, even though he really, really is. That wouldn’t cause this.”

“How do you  _ know that?”  _ Party sounded so incredibly tired. Not physically; there weren’t even bags under his eyes anymore, or at least ones so bad that Ghoul could push him and he’d fall over already dead asleep. Party was tired of dealing with this, of not knowing what to do. “How do you know that this isn’t my fault? That - that he’s get better or that I’m ever going to get my little brother back?”

Because Ghoul knew what was causing all this.

Because Ghoul knew why the world was crashing down on Party, and he was actively withholding the information. 

Saying any of that, though, would be shattering Ghoul’s promise to himself. It was better if Party was told when he was in a better state to process, but Ghoul didn’t know if there was a process at all that Party was going through.

“I know that...I know that he’s a strong kid. He’s related to you, for Destroya’s sake,” Ghoul laughed, and Party even joined in with a half-assed giggle. “So he’s got this.  _ We’ve  _ got this. Stop worrying, okay?” 

Stop worrying. What hilarious advice considering Ghoul was starting to worry a lot more.

He was making promises he couldn’t keep. That Kobra was going to end up just fine, that Kobra was going to be okay.

Ghoul didn’t know if Kobra was going to be okay. There was a damn chip in his neck fucking with his brain chemistry and shit. Red said...Red said that the only way to remove the chip was an  _ actual Battery City hospital _ .

“I hope,” Party mumbled. It wasn’t something noticeable at first, the way he melted into Ghoul’s grasp, but he did, and Ghoul felt even worse about keeping the truth.

The only way they could save Kobra from his own damnation is if they brought him into the city he hated with more than just what was in his soul, with what was in his  _ heart _ . 

They’d have to bring Kobra to a hospital and somehow convince Party that it was a good idea while simultaneously keeping it from him that the best suggestion they got was to just kill him before it got worse. 

_ Kill him. _

Yeah, Ghoul could be given a choice on whether to get hit by a flying acid-filled piano or tell Party that Kobra was unfixable and they had to kill him, and he’d ask how much the piano weighed.

That was not an option.

The other option was to bring Kobra to the City secretly, somehow manage to get him the chip removal surgery, and get back to the Zones without Party ever knowing they were gone, and that was a gross violation of multiple people’s trust as well as completely and utterly impossible.

“Are you okay, Ghoulie? You seem a little...out of it,” Party asked, concern dripping from his tone. It seemed that when he was worried about one person, when that person was in view and was there and he knew they weren’t going to imminently die or leave, he was hyper-observant of things.

That, or Ghoul was zoning out too much thinking of the implications of his stupid decisions. If something went more horribly wrong than Ghoul was already anticipating, he was going to go find that piano on his own to hit his head against it. 

“Just….thinkin’,” Ghoul hummed, trying to make sure that his voice betrayed nothing going on in his head. He didn’t like being a liar; killjoys had to make tough choices sometimes, but t=lying was something Ghoul had never liked.

It made him feel like nothing he could say was worth shit, because he was lying, and he knew he was lying. It was one thing to make shaky promises under the guise of hope; it was another to outright  _ lie  _ to the killjoy who’d trusted you enough to trust you with his past.

To the killjoy who trusted Ghoul enough to let them  _ kiss _ . Maybe that wasn’t a big deal to most ‘joys, but it was to Ghoul, because Party didn’t trust anyone to even  _ touch  _ him, but he let Ghoul  _ kiss  _ him. 

And Ghoul was lying to his face. Like a lying liar face liar.

“Thinkin’ about what?” Oh, because Party had to ask, and Ghoul had to feel even more guilty about lying. Great! Just what he needed.

You know, this would be a really intimate moment if Ghoul wasn’t so guilty, with a reason to be that guilty. 

“I’m just...thinking about…” What was he going to say? He didn’t want to outright lie more than he actually had to. It weighed too heavily on his heart. “Us.”

That was even  _ worse _ . Of all the things he could’ve said, of all the things he could’ve - could’ve fabricated, he had to go with the one thing that was technically objectively true?

It was objectively true because it wasn’t what Ghoul had been thinking since he’d gotten back, but it was true because Ghoul  _ did  _ think about it, about it all.

They weren’t in the right place to think about things like that. 

Party didn’t stiffen in Ghoul’s arms, didn’t flinch or laugh. He hummed, though, some melody Ghoul only vaguely recognized. “Yeah? What’cha thinking about us, then?”

“That...that…” C’mon. Don’t fuck it up more than you’ve already fucked it up, Ghoul. It’s cruel to lie, but it’s more cruel to tell the truth, isn’t it? “That there’s too much shit going on.”

Again, Party didn’t tense, didn’t move away, and Ghoul took that as a good sign. He was reading too far into this. He was too paranoid. Paranoid and nervous and a  _ liar  _ were not good looks on Ghoul. “There is. I...need to figure out what to do with Kobra before anything else.”

“Have you tried examining the brand on his neck?” Ghoul blurted. Unthinking, his guilt bubbling up in his throat like blood, spilling out just enough to leave room for the truth like a bitter aftertaste. 

Party twisted around to look at him, curious, with no malice in his eyes. There should be. Ghoul was lying about what he knew and Ghoul was using whatever the hell they were as an excuse for it. It made him sick to his stomach.

It was more of a violation of trust than Ghoul was prepared for. Fuck, he didn’t prepare himself for this at all, did he?

“I haven’t really looked at it too closely.” They both knew it was because Party’s vision tended to go red when he remembered,  _ oh, hey, your little brother was branded.  _ “Have any theories on what it could be?”

Ghoul shook his head, and that was a lie. It was obvious to him that he knew exactly what was going on, but he was opting to lie, but…

Fuck, he couldn’t do this. Ghoul couldn’t keep lying to Party; he hadn’t even made it for five fucking minutes!

“I have a theory.” Well, this wasn’t technically lying. Until they had proper, visual proof, it was all technically a theory, and an elaborate one at that. “I mean...they branded him with his own logo. Why would they do that? It just doesn’t make sense, y’know? So what if the brand was hiding something?”

“What do you mean?” But Party was already crawling away from him, to the radiator where Kobra was passed out. Already carefully, gently, like Party was the one afraid to hurt Kobra, moving the hair off his neck, to see the brand in question.

“I mean - what if the brand was hiding a scar, I guess? What if they like...put a chip in him or somethin’, and that’s why he’s acting so off?” Way to be oddly specific, Ghoul, like that totally makes it seem like you’re telling the whole truth. He wasn’t, of course, and that was obvious to him, but he was praying that Party paid his specificity any notice.

“Maybe you’re right…” Party seemed more cautiously optimistic than he had in days. He was already lightly grazing the brand, tracing it, squinting at the raised lines. More scrutiny than anger, but there was a fair amount of anger tracing the planes of Party’s face. “That sounds like somethin’ BLI would do, I ‘pose. Why Kobra?”

“Why not?” Ghoul suggested. Maybe Party would figure it all out on his own, and Ghoul would never have to acknowledge what Red had told him. “They can’t have too many perfect candidates, can they?” 

“‘Pends on who all they get from the City…” Party wasn’t paying attention to him, though, not really; he was examining the brand, searching for any detail that could lead to Ghoul’s theory to be true.

Ghoul already  _ knew  _ his theory was true. 

“You...you keep lookin’, ‘kay? I’m gonna...get some bandages,” said Ghoul, praying to Destroya Party was distracted enough to forget to ask why Ghoul needed bandages, or maybe even assume they were from his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah - tell me when ya get done, yeah…”

Perfect!

Ghoul managed to slip away, but there was still that guilt churning in his stomach, that he was lying and if something went wrong it would all be his fault, that he was violating Party’s trust. Well. Fuck. It’s not like his stomach already hurt enough!

Why  _ was  _ he vouching to help the guy who shot him in the stomach, anyway?

Because it was Party’s brother? Because Ghoul thought that maybe, against all odds in the way that it always was for Party, they could fix Kobra? Who was he kidding?

He had no reason to help them. He had no reason to help Jet, or Party, or especially not Kobra. If he wanted, he could just...walk out the Diner doors and never come back. Pretend he never got caught up in this, that he was never part of a crew for the short amount of time that he was, pretend that he never had to deal with Party’s hazel eyes and the way they twinkled in the sunset sun. 

It was tempting, when he got the bandages. To book it, to take only what he was wearing and leave.

But he saw the way Pary held Kobra, in the corner of the Diner, out of sight if you weren’t specifically looking over there. Party was holding Kobra, much like the way Ghoul was previously holding Party, except...Party was still staring at the brand on his neck, and… There were tears running down his face.

Oh. It was that time of day. Not Ghoul’s favorite, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t know that Party cried about Kobra more than he’d like to admit. Party only cried when he was alone, or thought he was alone.

Jet knew about it too. Maybe it wasn’t healthy for Party to cry that often about the same thing, but Ghoul likened it to losing a family member. Not just losing him in a metaphorical way, but mourning him in a way that implied maybe Party knew that he wasn’t going to get Kobra back.

Like he was already mourning for the death of his brother, despite the fact that Kobra was still there, still breathing.

And that’s when Ghoul decided, fuck it. Damn him, damn the Witch, damn everyone he fucking knew, but he wasn’t letting these two idiot brothers get torn apart and he wasn’t going to run away from this.

He wasn’t going to keep lying to Party, either.

With a sigh, - a sigh that knew just how much of Party’s reckless stupidity was rubbing off on him, how stupid he could be sometimes - Ghoul turned toward Party, said with a demand that couldn’t be denied, “I know what’s going on. We’re going into the City. Get Kobra into the backseat. Don’t ask why yet.”

Ghoul turned on his heel and stalked off to the back of the Diner before Party could say a thing, could voice any of his confusion. 

There were footsteps and general grunting in the background, though, so Ghoul assumed Party was following his request. Now onto Jet!

“Jet!” Ghoul called out, until he figured out that Jet was in what had been deemed his room - the old pantry. “Jet, I made a shitty and impulsive decision, but we’re going into the City to maybe hold-up a hospital, but we’re gonna fix that Kid if I have to swear on my mother’s grave. We’re leaving now. Capiche?”

Jet simply blinked at him. Blinked at him again, and then finally, “You say it with such a straight face I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Nope,” Ghoul shook his head. “Actual bad decision I made. C’mon. You feelin’ better since the last firefight?”

“Two hours is not the longest amount of time to recuperate, Ghoul, you know that, right?”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“...If I have to fight for my life, then...Yeah. Or fight for Kobra’s life.” 

And that was that.

That was that, and Ghoul wished maybe someone were to talk him out of it, but it was hard to remember that Party didn’t actually know what was going on and Jet was desperate for any last attempts to make Kobra human again, to make him anything more than the Crow he was slowly becoming the longer they kept him chained up to the radiator like an animal.

Ghoul checked the battery pack in his own ray gun, which he’d gotten out of the habit of, and wasn’t surprised to find that it was still fully charged. Sometimes, stealing a Drac gun had its perks.

Nevertheless, Party was already sitting in the driver’s seat, looking in confusion at Ghoul when he managed to tumble his way into the passenger seat, which Kobra handcuffed and asleep in the backseat.

Yeah, if Kobra woke up...those handcuffs weren’t holding him. Ghoul knew him that well by now, at least. But… At least the sentiment was there. Instead of explaining, Ghoul jammed his ray gun into its holster and flipped on his sunglasses. Stupid sun. “Jet’s gonna be out in a minute.”

Jet was out in a minute, shaking his head at Ghoul without Party noticing, as Party was too busy staring at Ghoul. “What the fuck? Why are we going into the City? Why are we bringing Kobra with us?”

“Because we can save him,” Ghoul said, finality in his voice in a way that he’d no doubt mimicked from Party. Funny how that worked, huh? “I know we can save him, and I know how.”

“How the fuck do you plan on doing that? How are  _ we  _ planning on doing that?” Party asked, but he was already shifting into drive and kicking up sand as the tires started spinning.

“Have you ever broken into a hospital?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter, but it's okay! It was how long the chapter needed to be. What did y'all think? :D


	17. You're Just A Lifelong Wait For A Hospital Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Killjoys know what they need to do.
> 
> They don't know how to get out of it, though, and maybe that's the worst part.

Battery City.

Battery City, the birthplace of two saviors - one of whom was coming back with a deathwish, and one of whom was passed out in the backseat being worried over by the two desert-borns. 

_ Savior _ . Use the word loosely. It isn’t a word of salvation and revolution. 

A savior is someone or something that saves someone from danger. And, Destroya be damned, Party Poison, member of the Fabulous Killjoys, brother of the Kobra Kid, was going to die a savior if it ended with a ray gun blast to the head.

Better Living Industries wasn’t going to tear his life apart just like that. They weren’t going to take his little brother from him again and again and  _ again  _ until he broke.

He wasn’t going to let it happen.

“Ease up on the gas, Pois,” Ghoul murmured from the passenger seat, but he wasn’t doing any better himself with the way he was clutching Party’s ray gun. 

Kobra’s ray gun was in Party’s thigh holster. Kobra himself may be…  _ out of his mind _ , but Party wasn’t letting even that piece of him die.

Kobra’s aim always had been better than his.

“No,” Party snarled through grit teeth, tension coming off of him in waves. It was impossible to relax.

His brother might die no matter what happened, and Party was risking everything he’d ever run from, fought for, fought  _ against _ , to save him. On the off chance that he could be saved. 

Ghoul’s voice was soft, blurry around the edges in the same way that mornings they woke up snuggled next to each other were. “Hey. We’re gonna save ‘im. But we need the car ride to plan, and ‘sides, the tires can’t deal with this.”

“Neither can I.” It wasn’t so biting, that time, but there was certainly an air of anger, of fire, of the angel of death he was bound to become circling over him like a vulture. 

But metaphors and angels and early mornings aside, there was work to be done, a leader who needed to get it organized, and a brother in the backseat that desperately needed control of his own head back.

“Alright. So, what are we doing when we get to the wall?”

First things first, remember that it was another mission. A suicide mission, but it was worth it for Kobra. 

Another mission, so he needed to plan it as such. 

Jet cleared his throat, looking up from petting Kobra’s hair. Destroya, they really all were lost without him, huh?

Kobra was their glue. Maybe they weren’t the best crew yet, maybe they didn’t know enough about each other to consider each other  _ family,  _ but Kobra kept them together in one way or another. 

“We can - we need to go through Bat City’s Tunnels, the ‘ficial ones. That’s the only way we’re getting the ‘Am into the City and we kinda need it.”

Maybe it was an obvious decision, but they needed to start somewhere and part of Party was relieved that Jet started off as a point they couldn’t argue over, couldn’t argue about. 

Still, there were flaws in every plan, no matter how high the estimated success rate would be, even though Party couldn’t do math. “Right, and that’ll take us into the Lobby. Where’s the nearest hospital from there?”

“It’s gonna be right past the border of the neighboring district,” Ghoul nodded, though it seemed he was already light years ahead of where Jet and Party were. It was one of the things Party loved about him, even if he wished Ghoul wasn’t so quiet about it. “Right, uh, past Tarot Street.”

“We’re not...meeting the Tarot Witch again, right?” Party murmured. 

While he knew that they didn’t have the time to meet up with the residents of the Lobby, there was something about her that made him shake. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t like Tarot Street.

“No. We don’t have the time.”

On-and-on it went. The plan, the fallbacks, the new plan, the inconsistencies, the newer new plan, etc. etc.

Until they didn’t have the time to plan anymore.

Until the walls of Battery City were towering over them, looming, blocking out the light. 

They could plan, still, but they knew what they were doing. The moment the Trans Am’s engine even hummed in the tunnels of Battery City, the entire city would be on high alert and looking for them.

It seemed they’d made enough ruckus recently to be wanted. Oh, it was a nice feeling when it wasn’t producing the opposite of the effect you needed. 

For the moment, they had to wait until the sun started to flirt with the horizon. That would be their cue, and everything after that would be  _ go go go  _ ** _go_ ** .

_

Time came too quickly.

“You got Kobra?” Party asked, lips drawn into a tight line, the cracked leather of the driver seat digging into his jeans. Too uncomfortable.

_ Everything  _ was uncomfortable. 

Jet nodded, too nervous - like the rest of them - to break the silence encasing the car like a tomb. Kobra himself, still knocked out, was awkwardly around Jet’s shoulder, fireman’s carry, because it was more efficient when running and the first thing Jet needed to do when they stopped the car was to  _ run _ .

“You got your blaster?” Ghoul asked, though he was dual-wielding both Party’s and his own, knowing Party had Kobra’s. It was best to double-check, wasn’t it?

That being said, Jet finally murmured, “Masks on?”

And that was all the stalling, all the last-minute worry time they had before the engine was squealing to life and the world became a blur of  _ save him save him save him _ .

The alarms started almost instantly once the ‘Am broke past the boom barrier, officially into the City.

None of them knew how much time they had before the authorities started to respond before they had Crows on their tail and Drac squads sent out to cut them off. They needed at least two minutes.

And, hopefully, no civilians would be loitering in the streets. It was hard to break for an old man when you were going eight miles per hour through a city that had tortured you so much that it brought you  _ back  _ to it to fix what it did.

Take a right.

That would begin to lead them out of the Neon District, out of the Lobby and into the District they needed to be in. Was it Boron District? 

Party didn’t know, Party didn’t care so long as he was taking the directions Ghoul had given him, the grim silence beyond the wind whipping through the windows like a weight on his shoulder.

A soldier in enemy ranks in their car, a soldier Party liked to call his brother.

It all ended - 

##  _Now_.

The ‘Am came to a stop.

Not even a breath could be taken before Ghoul was throwing the door open, the hospital doors a fixed destination in his mind’s eye even as he wildly turned to see if he had targets yet.

He didn’t. Not yet.

Neither did Party. Party was getting antsy, too far out into the street, too little attention focused on helping Jet get through the doors as quickly as possible.

But for some fucking reason, Party didn’t take their little head start as an opportunity to park closer to the damn building they needed to go to. 

The first blast hit the hospital doors behind Jet’s head, singing the denim of Kobra’s ill-fitting skinny jeans. 

Party just… stared at the Drac unit for a moment, unable to recognize that the fight had begun. That it was now or never.

That it was  _ save Kobra  _ or  _ die trying _ .

And that kicked him into overdrive, the second’s of the clock taking longer and longer in his head as the white-knuckled hand holding his ray gun lifted, as he slid over the hood of the ‘Am, ducking down behind it to get a better cover while managing to take in the numbers of who they were up against.

Only a few Dracs so far. Ghoul was offing them like a sniper from behind the trunk. 

More were spilling in. Party’s hand was numb.

_ Crows  _ started showing up. 

Ghoul switched his attention from the Dracs to the higher threat.

Party was stuck behind firing at Dracs and firing at anything that moved. They couldn’t stay like this.

The car was going to start taking serious damage. The driver window shattered.

_ They couldn’t stay like this _ .

“Doors!” Party shouted, not knowing whether the need for the volume was necessary, if it hindered more than it helped but he couldn’t focus, he couldn’t focus was Jet to the doors yet?

Was Kobra safe, had any stray shots hit him? Were they okay? 

Did they need to keep shooting?

As his ray gun lowered and his thoughts started to make the world go round and round, Party was harshly brought back to the world by Ghoul tugging at his jacket collar, his right arm still raised and still dropping Dracs like flies.

Like rodents.

“You said doors, c’mon!” said Ghoul through grit teeth, dragging him up to his feet.

Party started to realize, oh,  _ oh _ , taking Ghoul’s hand from his collar and into his own, leading them both up to the doors while Ghoul covered their backs.

Jet was nowhere in sight. Was he inside yet? He had to be. He was. 

The tricky thing about firefights, is making sure you can retreat without any stray blasts. Usually, there was no way to make sure you weren’t going to be snuck up on.

Not at a hospital. 

The automatic sliding doors, equipped with bulletproof glass, of course, slid closed as Party and Ghoul found their way inside, wide-eyed and out of breath and too shaky on their feet.

Jet already had Kobra set down, all the scared occupants of the hospital cowering in a corner.

They weren’t here to scare civilians, to result in any casualties. 

“You - you get them outta here, yeah? Get who you can,” Party swallowed, nodding at Ghoul and forgetting to let go of his hand for a moment. The two statements held double meanings.

_ Get the civilians out of harm’s way.  _

_ Ghost as many Crows as you can _ .

The Exterminators would start showing up soon, to cleanse the city once again of the rats that infested the Desert outside of their control.

The  _ rats  _ were here to take back control. 

“Jet, you got lockdown ready?” 

Party didn’t know if Jet had already talked to someone, demanded they show him where the lockdown protocol was.

Party knew they had one. In case the City was ever stormed, like it was in the Zone Four Fires that burned a quarter of Battery City to the ground, somewhere like a hospital needed to stay safe, out of rebel control.

Jet didn’t look up at him. “Yeah. I got it. We need to keep a doctor and a nurse here. Everyone else  _ out _ .”

Nothing was going through his head, no train of thought he could catch because they were going too fast, when he relayed the information to Ghoul. All Ghoul did was nod, in between one of his blasts out the doors when they slid open.

The civilians were leaving in groups, by Ghoul’s instruction of course. It made sense. Crows wouldn’t hit the civilians when they ran out because it could hurt their public reputation, and Ghoul could get a few shots toward BLI in. 

“I’ll empty the other levels,” Party swallowed. He knew there had to be more people.

Jet’s warning about leaving those who were bedridden went in one ear and out the other. Yeah, like Party had the time to get unconscious gram-grams out of bed and into the damn street.

No. It was the hospital staff he needed gone.

So imagine his surprise when, up his third flight of stairs with more than twenty of the hospital’s staff sent downstairs, when he ran into a familiar face.

“Good to see you, Party Poison,” Dr. Benzedrine smiled, missing everything purple about him. Hospital scrubs didn’t suit him, not at all. He didn’t belong in a hospital.

“Doc - Doctor Benzedrine?” Don’t mind his surprise. He had a lot going on right now. 

But he knew which doctor he was keeping to perform the surgery.

“Yes,” Benzedrine smiled, and it didn’t fit with what was going on at all. In fact, the entire hospital other than the first floor was silent enough to make Party wary of what was going on. “Anything you’re particularly here for?”

“To get - I’ll explain later. We need to get the rest o’ the hospital staff out.”

And that was that, and Party and Dr. Benzedrine were herding hospital staff downstairs, for Ghoul to deal with, but lockdown protocol couldn’t be initiated until  _ everyone  _ they needed to be gone was gone.

The hospital floors never ended. They had a time frame.

“And we’re done!” Benzedrine shouted, with that same smile of his that was going to drive Party crazy if he kept having to see at a time like this.

But just like that, all the time they spent getting everyone who needed to leave downstairs, they themselves were running down the stairs, barely being able to keep up with the speed they were going, almost always right in front of certain doom. 

“Lockdown’s ready!” Party shouted, registering that everyone except Ghoul, Kobra and Jet were in the lobby subconsciously, but not realizing it. 

The chaos from outside was muffled. 

Mostly, it was all the panting from the killjoys within the lobby that made up the noise as metal doors began to fall in place over every  _ single  _ entrance within the hospital.

Funny how that lockdown measure to keep killjoys  _ out  _ was the one keeping them  _ in _ .

“Alright. What do we need to do?” 

Oh, now the doctor seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, if he hadn’t before. It was odd seeing such a serious, grim expression on an otherwise young-looking man.

Ghoul started without hesitation, with Party and Jet walking away to pick Kobra up with as much care as they could within their time budget.

Benzedrine was silent for the longest time after Ghoul finished his short-winded explanation. Then, finally, “...Third floor, second hallway, operation room. I’ll lead you.”

“How long is - how long is it gonna take?” Party asked - he couldn’t stop himself. They needed to be gone  _ soon,  _ before BLI managed to hack their way past their own defenses. He hoped they had good technicians on lockdown protocol before it was implemented.

A sigh was the prequel to Benzedrine’s words. Party already knew it was bad. “An hour, an hour or two? I can’t - it’s hard to tell. With the skin as tough as it’s gonna be due to the brand, me not knowing the nature of it and all… But under three hours. I can guarantee that.”

Party didn’t want to ask why. He didn’t want to ask if Benzedrine was going to rush the surgery, because he knew the doctor would have too. Inside, what flew out of his mouth was a menial question meant to make the time pass. “Why are you even here?”

“Some of us have day jobs to keep,” Benzedrine murmured, his lab coat flying out behind him in a way that didn’t suit him. It was too short.

Party had to say, he’d met the man once and it was odd to see him without an ankle-length purple lab coat.

_

Party and Jet were all but kicked out of the operation room. The only reason Ghoul was allowed to stay is because he was functioning as a nurse.

Ghoul was too good at too many things. Party didn’t like it. Bombs, ray guns, nursing or whatever. 

Or maybe he was just upset he wasn’t able to be in the room. Maybe he associated the lack of Kobra being in his sight the same as Kobra being maltreated or in danger.

Could you blame him?

Regardless, with the hospital on lockdown and Kobra in surgery, it gave Party a lot of time to think. He didn’t like that.

It didn’t feel  _ right  _ for so little to be going on. He didn’t even know how dark it was outside, or how - how the hell they were getting out of here.

Jet and he started to discuss what they would do with Kobra out of surgery. They were operating on the idea that Kobra wasn’t going to be awake or conscious, and that they’d have to carry him around like a deadweight.

Each idea was even worse than the last.

There was no way to get out of this, at least not one that was going to get them all out safely. Getting into the hospital itself had been a gamble, but at least they had the element of surprise and delay at their advantage.

Now, they knew that rows upon rows of adversaries were outside the door, that the moment they left the building they were going to try to be shot down. 

Could they operate on the idea that they were too valuable to be killed? They had started to make a wave of  _ something  _ across the Desert, but was there anything about them that made them useful, in BLI’s perspective?

Kobra could make a good soldier, but with the chip out of his neck and the brand permanently ruined, Party didn’t know if they’d take him back.

Ghoul and Jet were Snow Storms. They made good experiments, but would BLI want two desert-borns at their age?

And Party himself. He was a bit of a celebrity, he knew that much, though he hadn’t realized what he’d become a celebrity for. Would that make him important enough to keep alive?

Even more important than those questions, was - did the trouble they cause getting into the hospital counteract all that?

In terms of as much profit and manipulation of the public as possible, would it be a good idea to keep them alive after this excursion of theirs?

On one hand… If they killed them right when they left, they could deal with the threat effectively and quickly. Brand it as an easy BLI victory against the terrorists.

On the other hand, if they were to be neutralized but not killed, what would BLI gain out of it? Be able to publicly execute them, make a show to the public that the  _ terrorists  _ out in the desert weren’t as high-and-mighty as they were made out to be?

That, joined with whether or not they were important to keep alive or not… 

Party was willing to take the chance. 

There was no way they’d manage to get out of this without falling into BLI’s hands that didn’t end in blood. 

Ghoul could probably fashion some explosives from the supplies they found and - that would be a good idea, actually.

The ‘Am was probably taken away by now, and if not that, then completely trashed. It was rule one. Get rid of their escape plan.

And… They needed an escape.

Their escape was going to  _ look  _ like an escape.

Party grinned. The near-future was coming together with a gift-wrapped bow, and, while there were flaws, unknowns that could get them into trouble, it was the best shot they had.

_

Ghoul was not amused when Benzedrine and he finished the surgery, when they came out with sweat sticking their hair to their skin and more exhaustion in their faces than Party saw in seasoned ‘joys.

That was most likely because they didn’t have the time, nor the resources, to spare.

In fact, Party was still telling Ghoul bits and pieces of the plan while Ghoul was getting together a low-blast bomb, that would certainly rock the ground, but wouldn’t save them, not at all. And he wasn’t making more than one.

“So we’re just… giving up?” 

“No!” This wasn’t  _ giving up. _ It was nowhere  _ near  _ giving up, and Party would be damned if Ghoul saw it that way. “No, we’re just - this is… It’s the only way I can even try to guarantee we all make it out. No more casualties.”

“No more casualties because you’re trying to  _ make us the bait!”  _ Not just Ghoul, of course, all of them. 

It was hard to explain, okay? Party - Party wished he could explain all of it if he  _ did  _ have the words, but he  _ couldn’t _ , because Ghoul couldn’t know. There needed to be a note of genuine distress or everything would fall apart.

He knew it would wreak havoc on Jet’s mental stability and Kobra if and when he woke up, but… He had to try. He wasn’t risking the death of his family.

“Look… I…” Was there a good way to phrase this? Probably not. Nevertheless, Party subtly took Ghoul’s hands away from his make-shift shelf workbench, holding them.

With that, Party shut his eyes, swallowing back all his fears, all his worries, and brought Ghoul’s calloused, dirt-stained hand up, letting the other rest with Party’s other hand. “I know this all seems crazy, and we might - Destroya, I’m terrified. But…”

Without opening his eyes, still, Party leaned forward to deliver a soft, gentle kiss to Ghoul’s inner wrist. “I promise you, Fun Ghoul, that everything’s gonna be okay.”

Before Ghoul could answer, Poison stood back up, refusing to let go of Ghoul’s hands, looking at him with this desperate sense of hope and misguided fear and everything, everything he hadn’t had the time to process. 

Ghoul nodded, slowly, a crooked half-smile on his lips that didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, funny how that works, huh? I’m usually tellin’ you that, Cherry Bomb.”

“How ‘bout you be my Detonator instead?” Party smiled.

Just like that, everything fell into place.

_

An unconscious Kobra Kid held between Party and Jet, Ghoul clutching Party’s hand like a lifeline, and ray gun’s in their holsters…

The metal door began to recede.

They were right. It was all but an army outside. 

“Oh, for us?” Jet joked, but it fell flat among the blanket of trust and fear settled between all of them. 

The automatic sliding doors opened for them.

The Crows raised their guns. The Fabulous Killjoys’ weren’t even drawn. 

And, with that, they held their hands up, entwined, and/or with Kobra falling awkwardly. 

There was that confusion they were betting on! Yes, yes, something was going right for once!

“I’ll be your Detonator,” Ghoul grinned at Party, all fake, answering the question from earlier and sliding the crude, improvised bomb from his jacket. Secret pockets had their perks for Ghoul, too, it seemed.

No one knew how to react when he threw it into the horde, all a tense waiting period for them to run, the Crows to shoot, the bomb to detonate.

It did, like the Killjoys knew it would.

It caused chaos, like they knew it would. Jet and Party stayed where they were with Kobra, trying their best to look shocked, like they didn’t know Ghoul would do that.

And Ghoul darted off, like he knew he wasn’t going to be handcuffed and knocked out the moment he tried to break BLI’s lines. 

At least Party wasn’t manhandled too much when they took him. 

He wanted to be. He wanted them to have to force him into their control when they took Kobra, wanted to not give up his brother that  _ easily  _ when the biggest unknown was Kobra himself. 

But Party let them handcuff him. He let them  _ take him from his brother _ . And hopefully, hopefully it’d save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Way late? Fuck yeah! Whatever, it's good. I'm just so happy it's done! What did y'all think?


	18. I'll Remember This Night When You're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison didn't know what he was getting himself into when he turned the Fabulous Killjoys into Better Living's hands.
> 
> Kobra Kid knew many things - what the hell was going on was not one of them.

“You realize the mess you’ve made, don’t you?” 

Party’s never been a fan of Exterminators; no killjoy was. Party, in particular, wasn’t a fan of _ Korse. _

Korse was the Better Living equivalent to a _ gang leader, _ one of the few Exterminators who had the power to control what they wanted, kill what they wanted, on a whim. Wasn’t the ultimate form of _ better than you _capturing Party Poison, of all people?

Party spat on Korse’s boots, glaring, the white, high-tech handcuffs behind him rubbing a rash into his skin from how much he thrashed. “You’ll see the mess I fuckin’ make when I get out of here.” 

“You’re not getting out of here.” Korse was smug, kicking his boot out. It hit Party in the throat, but not full force; rather gentle, actually, but enough to choke.

The message was clear. His suffering wasn’t going to be quick, but it wasn’t going to be slow, either. It was going to be suited toward a killjoy of his status, and he wondered, briefly, if he was going to be put on display.

“You jus’ - jus’… watch me,” Party choked out, snarling as best he could with Korse’s boot digging into his windpipe. 

“I have better things to be doing.”

With that, Korse walks away, leaving Party gasping for the breath that he hadn’t technically lost in the first place, swallowing greedy gulps of air and trying to remind himself that he was _nothing, _not in Battery City.

In Battery City, he was a prisoner, always had been and would be as long as he was still here. It was the same as before he left, but his hair was cut above his ears and his hands were forced behind his back by restraints.

It was odd, not seeing his red hair in his peripheral vision, and that was what Poison chose to focus on as he was forced onto his feet by the Exterminators behind him. At least he was considered _dangerous _enough to warrant Exterminators rather than Dracs, but there wasn’t exactly an upside.

He didn’t even know where Kobra was. He, Ghoul, and Jet were all thrown into the same transport van, but not Kobra. No, no, they took him.

Did it even matter whether he escaped or not? They were already going to humiliate and eventually murder him on live television - his plan failed, the one he _thought _could get them all out of Battery City was glaringly inconsistent and dependent on blind luck at best, and he’d already been brought to his knees, kicked like a stray. 

He wasn’t a _ dog _that was about to be put down. He wasn’t going to be a fallen killjoy put on display - or, at least, he didn’t want to be, but… Party didn’t know if he could help that. This was all his fault, anyway.

Everyone being captured. Who had the bright idea to get them all caught? Party, that’s who.

Party knew there was no point dwelling in his stupid decisions - if he did that, he’d be staring at a wall for seventeen hours with embarrassing memories to spare.

Nevertheless, he was being escorted by two Exterminators, Jet had been taken down another hallway, and Ghoul was next to him, _ also _being escorted by two Exterminators. High maintenance capturees, apparently. 

That made Party smile, just a little, just because he knew that, if he died here, if he got his entire crew killed, then he still managed to make them all _threats _to Better Living Industries. What more could a killjoy want? 

“Where are we going?” Party asked snottily, rattling the handcuffs and the Exterminators’ arms. 

He didn’t get an answer like he expected one anyway. Ghoul was giving him a look, _ shut up, you don’t know what they’ll do if you act out of line. _

Or, more accurately, _ shut up, I don’t know what they’ll do to you if you act out of line. _Party couldn’t tell if he hated or loved that. 

The Exterminator on his left jostled him, grunting about it being _none of his business. _

It sure as hell was Party’s business considering he was going to be the one facing death row, but he wasn’t in a position to backtalk, and Ghoul’s pleading look told him that he needed to keep his mouth shut.

For Ghoul, if anyone. Ghoul had already lost enough. Party didn’t want to be the next ghost because he couldn’t listen when he needed to.

_

“What are we doing with him, Madame?” 

Korse knew when it was appropriate to hold his tongue and when it was appropriate to ask questions. 

When it came to the comatose _failed _experiment, former S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Program prodigy lying in a hospital bed, dressed as a _ rebel, _it was appropriate to ask questions as he saw fit. 

The Director barely glanced over, a slight grimace on her face as she tapped her nails against her arm, seeing as they were crossed. “Our actions are limited due to the nature of the surgery he received.” 

She said that as though Korse didn’t already know that. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to interrupt her to tell her that. 

“I believe the Better course of action is to reimplement him into Battery City,” Korse nodded, hesitant, waiting to see if his idea was received well. If it wasn’t, then… That wouldn’t end well, not with the Director, but she must’ve known how little options they had.

And they weren’t going to kill someone like the Kobra Kid; they could, but it’d be a waste of technology, effort, carbons, and _talent. _

“Reimplement him into the Crow Program.” 

That was a horrible idea.

The Kobra Kid - his “City Name”, as rebels like him liked to call them, had been blacklisted from every document it was in, and Korse wasn’t allowed to speak it - had escaped the Crow Program once, defied training once, and _once _was enough to raise Hell for years. 

Still, he wasn’t going to argue with the Director. It was ultimately her decision, and Korse swallowed nervously as he nodded. “I will see to it the process is started. Regardless of his implementation into the City, we don’t know how long he’s going to be unconscious.”

“It was a surgery. It should be a few hours.” 

She didn’t listen much when other people talked, did she? “...No, Madame. We spoke to the doctor who performed the surgery. He says it’s _ uncertain _whether the rebel will wake up, let alone when.” 

The Director narrowed her eyes at the hospital bed, at the dirty, grimy, _ young _rebel. Such a waste. “Was this the doctor’s fault?”

“No. The rebels forced his hand, but the coma is not his doing.”

“Then perhaps something will be arranged,” the Director hummed, sending a shiver down Korse’s spine. With a flick of her wrist, both of them could be dead in an instant. “See to it that his _companions _are Bleached. We need to make a statement.”

He knew _why _they needed to make a statement, but Korse pitied the poor souls that got stuck in charge of _that _operation. With rebel attacks rising in number, people needed to be put into their place.

And what Better way to convince them of their insignificance, of their _fear, _than their idols not remembering who they are?

_

“Have you ever tried not getting into trouble?” Ghoul muttered, and the glare in his eyes was all but fake - directed at Party, of course, but it wasn’t out of malice.

If it was out of malice, Ghoul would’ve killed Party before the Dracs, Exterminators or Crows _ever _had a chance, if only because Ghoul was one determined ‘joy and he had a lot to be angry at Party for.

Party laughed, but it was half-hearted and they both knew it. But then again, they were both locked within a white, padlocked cell, with their handcuffs behind them and a door that opened from the outside via keycard only.

The Exterminators had seen to it that Party knew, in excruciating detail, every little foolproof detail of the cell they threw him in.

At the very least, they kept him with Ghoul, and that was something Party was grateful for. If he was going to die and he couldn’t do it by Kobra’s side… He was fine with dying by Ghoul.

“Have I ever told you,” Party started, wishing he was _next _to Ghoul rather than across from him, but in his line of sight would have to do. “How I still don’t know why you’re still hangin’ around me? You could’a left after we found Kobes, y’know…”

“I know,” Ghoul shrugged, as well as he could in their current predicament. Party predicted he didn’t notice the way Ghoul winced as he did. “I didn’t wanna leave then and I’m still not leavin’ you _ now.” _

“You couldn’t if you tried.” 

“Jackass,” said Ghoul affectionately, though he was rolling his eyes. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I hope you do.”

“I hope I’m enough to get us out of this.” There was something about being locked in a cell with someone and facing your death that makes you talkative, Party found. 

He wanted to talk to Ghoul about everything that they hadn’t a chance to discuss yet. What the hell their kiss at the amusement park meant, what Ghoul meant to Party, why the Witch had been kind enough to give Party just the person he needed when his life fell apart.

And why the Witch was cruel enough to put him with that same person as they were all but being sentenced to their deaths.

Silence holds them, clutching at Party like a tomb, clawing at his throat and everything he hadn’t had a chance to say. 

He didn’t want to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. But he was going to look up, cursing to himself at the lack of poison red hair in his peripheral vision, meet Ghoul’s ice-blue eyes and memorize every little detail he can from the distance he’s at, “You know how you said you’d be my Detonator?”

Ghoul nod hesitantly as Party swallowed back all the thoughts lumping together into an incoherent mess in his head. He was _not _going to cry! “What ‘bout it, Cherry Bomb?”

“I like hearing you call me that.” What? He’s not saying good-bye. 

Party knew a few things - mostly, that something _bad _was going to happen to them, and they were separated, so he couldn’t think of some clever plan to save them. That taught him to stop blindly hoping. 

Nevertheless, he knew all the situations ended with him getting torn away from Kobra, Jet - which had happened already - and… Ghoul. But Party wasn’t going to say good-bye. It _wasn’t _good-bye.

Ghoul seemed to understand, smiling, although his eyes were watery. “Yeah. I like hearin’ you call me your Detonator.” 

And whatever happened, better or worse or even _worse, _Party wasn’t going to give up till he was dead. While that was… most likely to happen, it was the thought that counted.

Even when they were Exterminators opening the door; even when Party could sense their sick smiles from even behind their deceiving smiley-faced masks, the ones he _knew _they weren’t required to wear. They were mocking him. 

Even when they hauled him to his feet, kicking him in the back of the knees and snickering at the way he buckled underneath the sudden loss of balance.

“Thought you always said we’d never take you alive, huh?” The Exterminator in question had pulled up the mask to snarl at him, a cruel smile in place just after the words were delivered like a punch to the gut.

He’d written that just about every place he could vandalize.

_ YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE. _

And they took him alive; not just him, but his crew, his family, his brothers. And Party had let them. _ Party had let them. _

“Go to hell.”

But it wasn’t like Party could stop them from dragging him out of the room, away from Ghoul; it wasn’t like he could stop the way he screamed out for help, involuntarily looking, scrambling for Ghoul to do something, _ anything, _but Ghoul was just as helpless as him.

There was no help coming. 

Party barely registered the kick to his side; he shut his eyes tight, tried to keep from thinking about _ the last time. _

Y’know, he’d heard a song about dying; quite a few, actually, but none of them, none of them felt like being dragged away from Ghoul.

None of them felt like _ screaming. _ None of them felt like being dragged a fucking way from one of the _only fucking people he loved _like an animal taken to slaughter and none of them felt like the guttural plea Party shouted - 

Till he was being dragged up by the throat, silenced again. Save for the sound of being strangled.

Save for the way his feet weren’t touching the ground and there wasn’t any air getting to his throat and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe _he couldn’t breathe! _

Party wasn’t seeing an Exterminator holding him off the ground.

Party was seeing dark, _ violent, _ madness-driven eyes holding him against a pillow and clawing his nails into Party’s neck and _ he was going to die he was going to die, he couldn’t he couldn’t he _ ** _couldn’t _ ** _ move there was no ray gun he won this time, he won, Party couldn’t breathe and he was going to die. _

Then he fell to the ground, handcuffs rattling as his forehead slammed into the white tile floor, gasping for breath and desperately trying to claw at his throat but he _ couldn’t _because he was _handcuffed _and he wasn’t - he wasn’t in that dark room.

That was years ago. 

He was in the hands of Better Living Industries, and suddenly, Party didn’t want to realize he wasn’t going to be strangled.

“Get up off the floor.” 

Both Exterminators had removed their masks by the time Party looked up, still panting, still weak. One spit on him like he’d done to Korse earlier, except it landed on his cheek. 

“I told you to go to hell,” Party glared, struggling to his feet regardless. 

One of the Exterminators kicked him in the back of the knee again. 

If Party could’ve flipped the both of them off, he would’ve, but he was handcuffed, out of breath, and his knee was most certainly bruised.

One of the Exterminators grabbed him by the elbow, whereas the other smiled one of those dark, BLI-approved smiles, and put a finger to their ear, most likely to their communication device.

Great, Party had a feeling there was going to be a heaping pile of bad news with the way that grin widened, and by the fact that the grip on his arm by the other Exterminator was slowly getting tired, their nails almost ripping through the thin white prisoner’s uniform he’d been thrown in.

He was right. 

“Good for you…” Nothing _ good _ ever came out of _ good for you _ when it was someone talking to Party Poison. “We’re your case officers.”

“I might need to know your names for that.” Party had a sick feeling in his stomach that wasn’t from being strangled; he had a sick feeling he didn’t want to know what the two Exterminators were his case officers _ for. _

“Sprawl,” that was the one holding him.

“Flare. Nice to get acquainted with you,” Flare, the one with the unnerving grin and the one who _ strangled _him, said.

She didn’t care that he was bleeding. He could feel the little droplets running down his neck, a cruel mockery of the dye that used to bleed from his hair to neck, losing color and losing life just like BLI wanted him to.

She’d reopened the scars that were already there, the ones from the man who tried to kill him that night.

Destroya be damned, Party was going to _ vomit. _But he didn’t have that luxury when he’d had nothing to eat for two days beyond dirty water that’d all but been thrown at him. Again, like he was an animal.

Maybe if they wanted to treat him like an animal, he was going to need to _ act _ like one. Maybe if he did, he could somehow find a way to save them all, the way he thought he could’ve when they were captured and he had the _ bright idea _to give themselves up, make it easy!

Maybe he should’ve just let them all go out with a bang. Jet would’ve liked that more, most likely. Hell, Party was the reason Jet was a prisoner, _ again, _ the reason Jet was probably never gonna be able to be _ Jet _again after all he’d already gone through.

He needed to stop thinking about it. And he needed to stop pissing off Sprawl and Flare, because - because Party couldn’t get strangled again. Case officer or not, he couldn’t - he couldn’t do that again.

He couldn’t flash back those few years again. He couldn’t do that.

So, he’d keep his mouth shut. He’d let Flare win.

He’d let _ Better Living Industries _ win if only for - for as long as it took for him to save everyone. As long as it took to _ find _everyone. 

_

Party’s getting far too used to staring at a bloody cell wall. 

It’s his own, of course; he was strapped to the same metal chair, starting to rust from how little it was cleaned and how often Party _ bled _onto it. 

It’s a black cell wall, a little black cube meant to make him feel small, alone, isolated until someone from BLI came in, making him completely reliant on them for light, for direction. It wasn’t going to work. _ It wasn’t going to work! _

Besides, they had to take him out, sometimes. Bathroom and all that, feed him, even if they did blindfold him to create the same effect.

It wasn’t going to work. He was Party Poison, he knew that, and it wasn’t _ ever _going to change. Regardless, he glanced up at the light coming through the crack in the metal door the moment it opened, drinking in the snatches of artificial sunlight greedily.

“Who are you?” 

It was the same question every time, and the same person asking it; Flare, holding a flashlight to shine into Party’s eyes, make him flinch away from the very thing he’d been deprived of for hours and hours at a time. 

Party gave the same answer as he did every time. “Party Poison. Killjoy.” 

“No, you’re not.” She always said it like she knew who he was better than he knew himself, and that was a damn lie and a half. 

_ Party Poison _ was the only one in the Zones, in Battery City, who knew a damn thing about who he was and what his deal with Death was going to be. Flare didn’t. Flare _ couldn’t _ because Flare couldn’t _ break him. _

_

“Who are you?” 

Party’s tired of the same question over and over again. When would she realize the definition of _ insanity _was doing the same thing over again and expecting different results, though he had a funny feeling the person who made that definition hadn’t pawned a crappy lighter off Tommy… Tommy… What’s his name, again? 

“Party Poison. Killjoy,” said Party, tired to the bone and ready to _ sleep, _but he couldn’t sleep because there was a flashlight blinding him and he got shocked if he closed his eyes.

He got electrocuted when he did most things they deemed wrong. 

And saying he was _ Party Poison, _ that was deemed wrong. That got him shocked. But he anticipated, he knew that it was going to get him electrocuted, and the shock still made him shout; he’d never say _ scream, _but he screamed.

“No, you’re not.” Flare rattled off who he was supposed to be, the name the City gave him, but it wasn't his name, not really, and it wouldn’t be. They couldn’t break him.

_

“Who are you?”

God, he was tired. The same question, why did she always ask the same question? He would always give the same answer. “M’name’s Stef.”

For some reason, he’s happy that he didn’t get shocked, though Stef didn’t know why he would get shocked in the first place.

She was just asking who he was, after all. He was wondering when she was going to tell him he could leave because he ought to know why he was there in the first place, right?

The details of his stay were blurry, something about a hospital and a surgery gone on and they needed to make sure everyone was alright.

Still, he couldn’t shake the unease gripping at his chest when she smiled at him, told him everything was perfect, she just needed to fill out a form.

What form? Why? Why did having a surgery gone wrong mean he needed to answer questions? He wasn’t the doctor, was he? 

Well, Stef was having trouble remembering it all. Who was he, again? 

_

Kobra woke with a start.

Whether it’s because he can hear something in the distance, like voices, or because the temperature doesn’t feel right on his skin, he couldn’t tell. He could figure out what felt _ wrong _the moment he opened his eyes, though.

He wasn’t in the Diner. 

No, no, he wasn’t at the Diner, and he wasn’t in the Desert, and he wasn’t in his _ jacket, _and his hair was too short - he couldn’t see it - and he didn’t - he didn’t - where was he? Why was he in… hospital scrubs? 

_ Where the hell was he? _

There was a heart monitor hooked up to him, beeping louder and more frantically the more Kobra looked around, the more he realized that not everything was as it should be and he was not in a safe place.

Where was Party? Jet? Ghoul?

Wait, who the Hell is Ghoul? 

Kobra was dizzy, all of a sudden, like - like he had a sense of who he was when he woke up, but - it was fading, fading, fading, and he was confused where he was, still, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know where he was supposed to be and he was having trouble remembering the names he had been so desperately searching for when he opened his eyes.

It was much too cold, though, and the heart monitor next to him was steadily beeping, no longer racing. 

Kobra’s voice was hoarse when he called out; to the people who were rushing around outside of the glass separating Kobra’s room and them. The door was cracked open, though, which was why he called out - “Hello? Where, uh, where am I?” 

He was answered in a minute, by a smiling - almost unnervingly - man with a bald head and what looked like a poor sleep schedule at best. Kobra didn’t like him, not at all. “You’re in the Tower.”

“...Why am I in _ the Tower?” _Kobra had no idea what the Tower was, but it sounded imposing and important, and that was usually a sign of him being ignorant about something obvious or important. 

The man smiled once again, just as unnerving. “You were hurt in your last mission. Are you alright?” 

“I don’t… have any idea who you are.” Kobra smiled half-heartedly, sitting up on the cot and frowning internally at the way the uncomfortable sheets crunched. “Who are you? What do you mean by mission?”

“We were afraid of this…” The man didn’t sound very sorry. Kobra _ still _didn’t like him. “Your accident may have caused some amnesia. I’m Korse, your training supervisor. You were in an accident down in the Lobby with a few rebels who ambushed your squadron.”

Squadron…? 

“I’m - I don’t… Know what you’re talking about.” 

He thought he was remembering something, but it was vague and fuzzy around the corners like there was something in his head screaming to get out, but it was locked in a padded, soundproof room.

“You don’t?” Clearly, Korse dude. Clearly. “It may be worse than we thought. What do _ you _remember?”

What did Kobra remember? He didn’t… know. It was hard to think. It was - he felt caged, trapped, but there was nothing trapping him, and he wasn’t caged, and it was all so very confusing that he wanted to take another nap. “I’m… my name is the Kobra Kid, I’m… I… fight… rebels. And… And I’m seventeen.”

“That’s a start.”

Kobra wished it wasn’t, but he couldn’t place why, and he couldn’t think clearly enough to wonder why he was in so much discomfort. Save for the ache in his neck, what the hell was that? 

“Where do I go from here, then?” That was the question - always ask for what’s in the future, right? Then Kobra could know how to not fuck it up. 

Kobra had no idea what he fucking up by knowing he was _ the Kobra Kid, _albeit by name alone. 

Then again, Kobra didn’t know anything more than he was in a hospital room, he was an agent of some sort, he was injured, and he had a bad case of amnesia.

All normal things, he supposed. Bad things happened when you made the wrong decisions or didn’t anticipate your enemies well enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you look up the definition of "forgetful" you'll find a picture of me sitting down to write this, an image description, and nothing more <3 anyway, here it is! What you think ?


	19. We'll Let The Fires Just Bathe Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kobra Kid didn't quite know how being in the Crow Program worked, not yet.
> 
> Fun Ghoul knows that he needs information, and that he can blow shit up, and that's all he needs to know. Right?

##  ** _[ THREE MONTHS LATER ] _ **

Killjoys were renowned for their reckless improvisation and neon. Tumbleweeds were known for their blisteringly bright personalities and rollerskates.

And Juvee Halls? Juvee Halls were known for the way things got around by word of mouth; less known for their sleuthing skills and more for the way everyone knew everything, especially if it was supposed to be a secret.

Kobra couldn’t say that he got along with Juvee Halls; they were loud, they were  _ illegal,  _ and they didn’t know what was good for them. But on that same note, he couldn’t say he hated them, either, because if there was anyone that knew how to spot a lie from a mile away, it was a Juvee Hall.

That’s something that made them valuable; in the case of trying to finish up a cut-and-dry case of  _ who stole the supplies,  _ a Juvee Hall with a bribe on your side was important.

While he knew they weren’t reliable when it counted and their worldviews differed, Kobra didn’t mind standing next to the greasy, short Juvee Hall, of which was staring at him with an upraised brow.

“And what do you need my help with?”

The casual tone was going to get on Kobra’s nerves quickly - he was a  _ S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W officer,  _ tasked with taking out the same people this Juvee loved, and he was being  _ casual?  _

“The carbons should’a paid for that information already.”

The Juvee shrugged half-heartedly, glancing up toward the roof of the apartment buildings next to the pair; a dreary alley was always a good place of business if it was supposed to stay off the books, out of sight of the cameras and yet approved by his superiors. “Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. I didn’t get a clear-cut of my… insurance, I ‘pose.” 

Great, that was irritating as hell. “You want insurance? For what, that we’re not gonna ghost you?” 

“You don’t talk like a Crow,” the Juvee said suddenly giving him another  _ look.  _ Kobra didn’t know what the look meant and something, a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Flare, said he didn’t want to know. “You talk like someone out from the Desert.”

“How would you know?”

Hey, if Kobra could get the info he needed  _ and  _ get a Juvee Hall to confess to knowing a Zonerat, it’d be a damn good day. He needed to meet his quota, anyway, and he didn’t feel like scouring the streets for some trouble because he wasn’t in the  _ mood.  _

The Juvee glared at him, sneering, though there was a spark in his eyes and suddenly he seemed less aggressive, more confused. “Let’s just… let’s just say I’ve heard some things. What’s your name again, I don’t think I caught it.” 

“You didn’t.” Kobra didn’t offer his name. He didn’t need to - if he was important enough, someone else with more time on their hands could explain everything to the Juvee, but that wasn’t why he was here and he had other things he needed to be doing. “Cut to the chase. What do you know?” 

“I know that the… the…” Why was the Juvee stuttering, and why was he staring at Kobra? “Er, the girl you’re lookin’ for, I can’t name names but she’s one nasty bitch.”

“Isn’t thieving what you people do for a living?” Hey, it was true. Kobra didn’t have much love lost for Juvee Halls.

And the Juvee was still giving him a strange look. “No, it isn’t. Don’t be a bitch. She did something she wasn’t supposed to, to get those supplies is all.” 

“Hell can’t you name names for?” Kobra didn’t have the  _ time  _ for this! He needed to get back to the Tower to check in with Flare and his day off was tomorrow and he did  _ not  _ need to be working late. “Let’s wrap this up, ‘stroya only knows you people can blab when it’s about us.” 

“How do  _ you  _ know about Destroya?” 

Kobra disregarded the question, smiling tightly at the Juvee and putting his hand on his gun to remind the Juvee that he was armed, and the Juvee was not, because that was how their meeting was supposed to go and it wouldn’t  _ end  _ the way it was supposed to end if it the Juvee didn’t cooperate. It was supposed to be a meeting of mutual benefit. “Where is she now?” 

The Juvee raised his arms in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. “Last I heard she was gettin’ chewed out by the Doc on Tarot Street, ‘kay? Can I go now?” 

“Yeah,” Kobra gestured for him to get out of Kobra’s sight, though Kobra had no idea where Tarot Street was, nor  _ who  _ the Doc was, and he didn’t particularly feel like finding out.

_ 

Ghoul was  _ tired,  _ quite frankly, of the number of times he got stepped on, both figuratively and literally. 

On one hand, he was short, and people tended to forget he was there unless he was making noise - that was the point, after all, but sometimes it worked to well for his own good.

And on the other hand, it was meetings like that got him all cramped up and nervous. Better Living Industries had a habit of dispatching agents to make sure the Lobby was only within its bounds and it had taken him one arrest to figure that out - 

But they didn’t know who he was, and that made him nervous on the off-chance someone blabbed and they found out.

Because months ago, he remembered sitting in a white cell with handcuffs while the love of his life got dragged away screaming and crying. 

That being said, you could imagine how it wasn’t exactly something Ghoul looked forward to remembering. 

Everything after that and everything before that was a little fuzzy; it was hard to remember everything when BLI had almost succeeded in making him forget everything that was important to him.

But that wasn’t a scream you  _ forgot.  _ He couldn’t scrub the memory of Party Poison from his mind if he tried and at one point, someone  _ had.  _

The Crow he’d met with was… familiar, but Ghoul didn’t have a chance to think too much about it as he dodged and weaved between patrons of the back alley markets, where droids sold their spare parts and where he smiled and conned his way into getting more stuff than he needed.

Then again, everything he got could be repurposed, and he hoped it would all come in handy once he figured out what he was doing with his life.

And tucked away onto the roof of one of the buildings in front of the market, up a rusty (slightly booby-trapped) fire escape, was a blanket and a set of keys.

Ghoul had no idea what either of them went to, but they were the only things he knew for certain had  _ something to do with him  _ that he’d been able to snag when he escaped. The keyring was rusty, some more battered than others, and most of the keys  _ painted,  _ and the gray blanket was ripped, torn, and gave him no clue about where it came from or who it belonged to.

From the flashes Ghoul could remember, he thought the blanket was Party’s. 

The keys, though? He had no idea. It looked like they weren’t originally part of a key ring, if only because the keyring was new and specifically, not rusted, whereas the keys themselves were mismatched and varying in age and deterioration.

The Desert run was harsh. Maybe Ghoul was overthinking all of this. 

Then again, the  _ last  _ time he thought he was overthinking something, it turned out he was right! Even if he couldn’t remember what he’d been right about, he  _ knew  _ it was a thing that definitely happened!

Regardless of whether past, fleeting feelings of satisfaction were fictions conjured up by his mind, slowly going insane with the lack of identity he held, Ghoul threw the keys back onto the blanket and laid on the roof, gravel digging into his back, to stare at the sky.

The sky left much to be desired within Battery City, he found.

That was another thing he remembered, if only because of the way he thought Battery City was an  _ other.  _ He wasn’t from the City- he was from the Zones, which was why he didn’t quite understand the way the City worked and why he always thought of how much outside of the City would be better. 

Because that was his  _ home.  _

At least, it was where he was  _ from.  _ It was hard to pinpoint home when you lacked enough memories to remember what made you feel comfortable. Even if he did, he had a feeling home was always going to be a  _ person  _ rather than a place, because places changed and left and disappeared and people didn’t do that, not if you found the right ones to stick by.

Destroya, he needed to get some sleep. Overthinking again. 

Sleep was always a far-off dream, though, and Ghoul had too many questions circling through his mind like a hurricane to close his eyes, anyway.

There were a few hours of daylight left until the artificial sunset reminded people of their dawning curfew; enough for Ghoul to get information out of those who preferred to stay within the bounds of the law. 

And then after that, it was free game to figure out whatever he wanted.

So, he turned his gaze away from the mocking blue sky, closing them briefly to think about what his game plan was going to be. 

It was a bit too broad to go into the City thinking  _ I’m going to rediscover all of my memories and what happened to me.  _

Then again, he’d read in one of the Doc’s reports - a second-hand, copied one of course, because Ghoul didn’t plan on meeting  _ the Doc  _ anytime soon - that memory was a truly unreliable thing, and you couldn’t technically  _ forget  _ anything. 

That posed both a challenge and a benefit: The challenge being, if he was given the wrong information and wrongly believed it, his mind could alter the memories that had been repressed and permanently alter them,  _ but  _ it also meant his memories were still there, hidden from him, but  _ there.  _

From what Fun Ghoul knew about himself, he was a  _ loud  _ person. Not loud as in volume, but loud in personality and  _ friends.  _ That was the important part. That meant that he wasn’t nameless, wasn’t a ghost.

In the Lobby, no one was ever truly a ghost. Still, ghosts were hard to track. But people were reputations, them, they were whispered about in every circle in every corner.

And in one of those corners,  _ had  _ to be someone useful, or else Ghoul was going to pull his hair out in frustration and he had a funny feeling that pre-City-induced amnesia Ghoul wouldn’t like that very much. 

Pre-City-Induced Amnesia Ghoul could suck it. 

Nevertheless, Ghoul sighed, scampering to the ground with ease and  _ knowing  _ that people could tell he didn’t belong. He didn’t think he belonged, either; it felt wrong wearing so little clothing, just a t-shirt, and jeans. 

The City’s weather was regulated, of course, so there wasn’t any  _ need  _ to over - or under - dress. 

“Hello,” Ghoul smiled, knowing that the scar on the side of his mouth that he hated but couldn’t place the origin of, “Do you know where I could… get some information?”

One of the first rules of the Lobby, he’d learned in the two months that he’d been scrambling around in a blind panic of  _ who am I, who am I?  _ was that the patrons of the Lobby weren’t  _ friendly. _

They’d all been wronged in one way or another and it was rare any of them were open to conversation at any given time, so when the Juvee he bumped into glared at him, Ghoul gestured to the carbons peeking out of his pocket.

Suddenly, the Juvee looked a lot more friendly. Money did that. “‘Pends on what kinda information you need…” 

“Information that needs to be shared in private.” Ghoul’s patience was already wearing thin. He had a feeling he didn’t do this kind of thing too often; maybe, in the Desert, he was more of a loner.

But he didn’t  _ feel  _ like he was meant to be alone all the time. He overthought too much, but the only person that came to mind was a DJ with a soothing voice that he couldn’t remember the name of, and Party Poison, and he didn’t know how Party played into it beyond being close with Ghoul.

Maybe he needed to put more thought into Party himself, but Ghoul felt like all he would lead himself too would be more questions, and more questions without answers would surely get him killed quicker than he could say  _ pastel. _

The Juvee beckoned Ghoul toward a decrepit looking building, the door of which was all but falling off despite being attached via metal brackets to the brick building.

“What d’ya need?” 

“Depends on your rates.” 

It was one thing to  _ learn  _ information - it was another to pay for it, and, objectively, paying for it tended to work out better. People valued money over truth, but if the truth  _ was  _ money, then you name a price, and suddenly you’ll never hear a lie in your life. 

If you play your cards right, of course. 

The Juvee looked Ghoul up and down, trying to figure out whether Ghoul would know if he was getting ripped off or not. When they spoke, they had a low voice, scratchy, like they were recovering from a cold. “Tha’ all depends on what you want outta this conversation. Some information is more  _ costly  _ than others and it seems you don’ have too much to spend.” 

Ghoul rolled his eyes. They weren’t in a shady business deal on the coast from one of those old TV shows he watched - wait, he used to watch old TV shows? 

Yes! Another unimportant fact about himself! 

“I need information on some Killjoys that were taken by the City. And yes, I know their names.” 

That was another thing - it was easy to find information on a ghost if you had the pockets, but Ghoul did  _ not  _ have that kind of funds and it was easier for a Microchip to cross-reference a Killjoy name with past files than it was to have to hack into files with no idea of what they were doing.

Sometimes, Ghoul listened when people talked to him. It was rare, but it was a thing, sometimes.

The Juvee hummed, crossing their arms and glaring slightly. Gauging his reaction, no doubt. “And how much do you want to know?” 

“Twenty-carbons a name.” Ghoul didn’t have more than thirty carbons, but it was a front he needed to put up and the only name he actually knew was Party’s. And his own, of course, but… Well, he’d have to decide what he wanted to know about more.

He had a feeling he wanted to know more about the person he remembered being heartbroken for. 

_ Heartbreak  _ was one hell of a word and a strong one at that, and though Ghoul didn’t know why, his heart ached when he thought about it. He didn’t know. He didn’t know and that was just as heartbreaking as knowing was, but he wanted to find out, he needed to know. 

“That’s a hefty sum…” Only if Ghoul needed more than one name, and he didn’t, but the Juvee he was talking to didn’t need to know that. “I believe we have a deal?” 

Ghoul nodded; they didn’t shake hands. It wasn’t necessary considering a ray gun didn’t fit up a sleeve. “So? You gonna take me to a Microchip?” 

“I am one.” Cocky little bitch. Then again, Ghoul was  _ also  _ a cocky little bitch, even if he didn’t know what he was being cocky about, so he couldn’t exactly judge, could he? “Who do you need looked up and when do you need it by?” 

“An hour and I’ll pay half upfront.”

Doing business in the Lobby was fun, sometimes, when you both knew how it worked and you both knew the best way to get what you wanted: the Juvee wanted carbons and Ghoul wanted information, and with that out in the open it was child’s play to figure out a system that worked.

The Juvee agreed with a nod, darting toward a staircase before stopping halfway up, looking back at Ghoul through the dust in the air - “What d'ya need looked up?” 

“A guy named… Party Poison.”

Ghoul set ten of the carbons in his pocket onto the counter next to him, wiping away something that felt a lot like oil. Dirty oil, great.

BLI files were nothing to sneer at, but no matter what their programmers could come up with, some half-wit in the Lobby with spite and a laptop could figure out how it worked and how to get intel.

Spite was nice like that.

Ghoul had a lot of that, too, he thought - or at least he hoped he did in the past because he did now. 

It was hard to draw the line of  _ who he was  _ when there was so much that changed in a few months, and if his memories didn’t make him who he was, then was he even really Fun Ghoul? 

If he didn’t know why he was heartbroken over someone, did he deserve to be heartbroken? Or was that reserved for the person who would’ve died in a heartbeat to save the one he loved?

Would Ghoul remember any of that when he met Party again? Was he ever going to meet Party again? 

Destroya, he was  _ still  _ overthinking everything!

And he couldn’t leave to entertain himself, because he didn’t put it past anyone in the Lobby to rip him off, because that was how life worked when you were all running from the same thing, in different directions with different intentions. 

He couldn’t help but think about all the things he didn’t know about himself.

_

Or he could think of the things he knew about  _ Party Poison  _ an hour later, twenty-carbons poorer and five files of information richer.

_ Party Poison.  _ Ex-killjoy, according to the file, with a tracklist about as long as Ghoul’s list of scars. Used to be a big figure, but he went out with a bang in… 

Well, there were photos. 

There were photos of when he was captured; he was captured on the doorsteps of a hospital with… With Ghoul, and two others.

One of them, the one passed out like a noodle between them all, looked a hell of a lot like the Crow that Ghoul had run into earlier.

Well, that was concerning, because Party’s file included a  _ lot  _ about said Crow… his name, for example, being  _ the Kobra Kid,  _ which sounded  _ much  _ more like a killjoy name than a Crow name. 

Ghoul wondered why they let him keep it, but something told him it would make him sick to his stomach.

There was nothing in the file of where Party was now. Just… footnotes about how he was doing well in  _ rehabilitation.  _

That didn’t sound too good, did it? 

It meant that Ghoul had to do a hell of a lot more heavy lifting than he really wanted to, for a guy he barely remembered.

Then again, if Party was just some guy he could barely remember, Ghoul wouldn’t care about finding him, and he wouldn’t care about figuring out just how to rescue him. 

Would Party remember Ghoul? When all was said and done, if everything went the way Ghoul was beginning to hope, would Party remember him? Would they end up… and Ghoul hesitated to even think the word, a word with so much malice and pain in the past, but would they love each other? 

Nevermind that.

Nevermind, nevermind, he had to think of something else, and those thoughts were going to be centered around  _ how  _ he was going to find Party, which was the important part.

The file didn’t give him any leads other than  _ Party Poison was in rehabilitation,  _ and  _ the Crow he’d made a deal with involved Party somehow.  _

That meant his first clue was the Crow himself; he’d missed his chance back when they made their deal, no doubt something BLI was laughing their asses off about, but he wouldn’t miss his opportunity again, and if he knew where the Crow was  _ going…  _ he could cut him off.

And the Crow - the Kobra Kid or whoever - was trying to solve the case of a rebel surviving via theft, and Ghoul himself had directed Kobra toward Doc.

If Destroya only knew the things that happened in the Lobby… Then, Ghoul assumed, Destroya would be highly disappointed in them all. But don’t trust anyone, right? Isn’t that how it worked down in the slums?

Ghoul had a feeling that a never-ending sense of distrust with the people who were supposed to be on your side wasn’t how it worked in the Zones, nor was making deals under the table with different levels of authority  _ allowed  _ or  _ accepted,  _ but surviving was surviving.

_ 

The Kobra Kid did not make himself too difficult to track down. Maybe it was due to the short bleached hair - it was easy to tell it was dyed due to his eyebrows - or maybe it was because word spread quickly when there was a squadron of Draculoids and Crows making their way down to Tarot Street.

BLI avoided Tarot Street, or so Ghoul was told.

And Ghoul? Ghoul was  _ told _ very many things in the two months he’d grown accustomed to the Lobby and a growing, familiar sense of hatred against the company (who, you know, kept him in an electrical chair for a month before fucking up), but he hadn’t  _ experienced  _ nearly as much, and he didn’t have a fear about the Crow or his  _ back-up.  _

It was just a Crow and their squadron, trying to complete a quota without their superiors getting angry at them. That was all.

Ghoul was, at the very core of his being (and this part he knew for a fact), a nuisance to all things authority, especially when he wanted something. 

So, after watching the white vans - two in total - arrive at the border of the Lobby and whichever district it bordered, Ghoul smirked to himself, thought,  _ right on time,  _ and made his way leisurely off the roof, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t have a ray gun on him. 

“Hello again,” Ghoul smiled lazily, taking in as many details as he could without seeming too obvious.

Kobra was more well equipped than he had been last time they met; he was prepared for an altercation, a firefight, wasn’t he? 

He wasn’t going to get one. 

“What do you want, Juvee?” said Kobra, cold and preoccupied, scouting the area. It was Tarot Street - full of trash and smog, dirt, and grime, but deserted for the first time in years, no occupants to be seen.

Like Ghoul said, word traveled quickly in the Lobby. 

Ghoul stepped closer to Kobra, about five feet apart when he did, ignoring the ray guns aimed at his chest by the Draculoids behind Kobra. “I wanna know some things. ‘Bout you. ‘Bout your brother.” 

“You aren’t classified to know anything about me.” Kobra wasn’t even fazed; that wasn’t a good thing. Considering, you know, Ghoul’s entire plan revolved around Kobra being slightly confused. Don’t you hate it when BLI did the things they set out to do? 

Ghoul wasn’t going to get nervous, though; if he did it was a surefire way to get shot in the chest and that was something he generally liked to avoid. He swallowed back all the doubt in his throat because that was  _ also  _ a surefire way to get murdered. “I know I’m not. Are  _ you  _ even classified to know about yourself, though?” 

It was a cheap shot and wasn’t worth much - Ghoul knew that when he said it, and he saw the way Kobra’s fist - the one that wasn’t on the handle of a ray gun still sitting in its holster - clenched by his side. 

It did something, at least, and Ghoul hurriedly added onto his sentence before Kobra could get bored with the conversation or get orders to get Ghoul out of the way. “I mean, I mean, BLI is pretty secretive, right? What do you remember? Do you know that you have a brother? What’d they tell you, huh, that made you forget?” 

Shit, he was operating on fumes and hope right now, and that much was clear, but he didn’t have the signal yet! 

Kobra  _ must’ve  _ been realizing that Ghoul had no idea what he was saying, but there was an element of contemplation in Kobra’s eyes and that was the spark Ghoul needed.

Because, really, he didn’t need a spark. He didn’t know Kobra, or at least he thought he didn’t, but he knew that Kobra had a connection to Party in the way of siblings, and that meant Kobra could help him. Somehow. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“You’re full of somethin’,” Kobra said slowly, clearly trying to articulate his thoughts, but Ghoul saw a flash of light reflecting off an old compact mirror in the alley facing Ghoul, and he didn’t care about whatever Kobra was going to say.

Because, in Ghoul’s pocket, his thumb finally pressed down on the detonator. 

And boom went the white vans.

Distrust was as prevalent in the Lobby as lies within the government, but if there was one thing every self-respecting Juvee knew, it was that  _ BLI wasn’t welcome in their sacred spaces. _

Tarot Street? That was sacred. 

The Draculoids fired randomly, startled and most likely not realizing they were shooting at all, toward Ghoul, but Ghoul’s one intention was fumbling to get his hands out of his pockets and rushing toward Kobra - 

Kobra wasn’t startled by the explosion, by the  _ BOOM  _ that rattled Ghoul’s ears enough to make his vision shake for a moment - 

That wasn’t good, Ghoul thought clearly, the only clear thought in his head as he  _ attempted  _ to tackle Kobra while the latter pulled his ray gun out of his pocket.

Ghoul didn’t have a lot of body mass and Kobra had been standing in a way just  _ perfect  _ to throw Ghoul off of him.

While Ghoul was trying to scramble at his side for a weapon that wasn’t there, while pissed-off snipers began blasting the Dracs from the roof, Kobra was stalking toward where Ghoul had been thrown off him, gravel in his back but too focused on his impending doom to focus on it. 

The snipers weren’t going o  _ touch  _ Kobra, let alone try to get a shot on him. That would just get targets on their backs and Ghoul  _ had specifically  _ told them to stay away from the Crow. 

“You don’t know  _ anything,”  _ Kobra spat into Ghoul’s face, quite literally, but when he grabbed Ghoul by the collar it wasn’t to put a ray gun to his throat.

In fact, it was just a  _ switchblade,  _ like that made it any better, not when he had a sinking feeling in his throat that Kobra knew his way around a switchblade a hell of a lot better than a ray gun.

Huh, maybe he did have some connection to Kobra or at least used to. 

But that’s not his primary concern, is it? No, he had to sweet talk his way out of getting his throat slit like the mouth on his face because he blew something up that he shouldn’t have and dear Destroya he always did this didn’t he he always always  _ always  _ ended up in this situation and - 

Why was Kobra hesitating? 

And… Why was his grip on Ghoul’s collar lessening? 

Oh. Oh, that’s what it was, Ghoul smiled internally, seeing the spark of recognition and a cloud if confusion all coming to light in Kobra’s eyes. 

He didn’t know what he was doing, did he? Especially considering it was clear he hadn’t noticed the slow execution of each of his back-up Dracs. 

“Nice to meet you, Kobra Kid,” said Ghoul, a fake, mocking lopsided smile on his face as he simply… Stepped away from Kobra, pretending the relief flooding his chest wasn’t there.

“Nice to meet you…” You knew the Crow was confused when he actually returned the sentiment of the greeting back to you. “Fun Ghoul?” 

“Right on the carbons!” 

And Ghoul remembered, oh, he was standing in the middle of an area that was about to blow-up, his brain not registering the  _ meeting  _ with Kobra as anything too high danger. That was… odd. Damn, what did he get himself when he wasn’t getting his memory wiped?

With that, Ghoul mock-saluted him, eyeing the switchblade in his hand before darting off, back into one of the grimy alleys that had become a mockery of wherever he used to call home. 

Kobra didn’t follow him; Ghoul didn’t expect him to. 

All he’d needed to do was send a message and get a better gauge of the Kobra Kid - and save the Lobby, of course, but Tarot Street never had been and never would be the height of his concern. 

Kobra wasn’t fully  _ trained,  _ wasn’t one of BLI’s obedient lapdogs. Not yet, at least. And Ghoul didn’t want to bet anything on that, not a carbon, not his life, not his memories, but he would anyway because it was the only lead he had.

And he had to find Party. And maybe he’d remember more before that, too, like he remembered Kobra was good with a switchblade.

But at the end of the day, that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he got his  _ life  _ back, that he found his fucking family and made it out of the deathtrap of a city he was residing in. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could do all of that without getting killed. Maybe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D we are getting back on track! Anyway, as always, hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment your thoughts or I'll torture the damn cinnamon roll (take your pick who that is)


End file.
